#~the heart of a sister is steel and gold

[strawberri-blonde]

Yours to Command - Jacaerys Velaryon

Summary: you don’t tolerate disrespect towards your betrothed and in return he shows you how much he appreciates it.

Warning: smuttttt also I used an app for the Valyrian so if it’s wrong my bad.

Masterlist

“He’s nothing but a bastard-.” The Lord couldn’t even finish his sentence as you drew your sword, crafted from the finest steel, and slashed him across the face from ear to lip.

The room erupted in gasps of horror and surprise as you cut into the man’s flesh. The Lord had been boasting to your stepmother, Queen Rhaenyra, and your father, Daemon, about how you should marry his eldest son, dismissing Jacaerys as an option because of his infamous brown hair. What the Lord didn’t know was that you loved Jacaerys' distinguished curls and his soft brown eyes.

“Watch your tongue as you speak of my betrothed.” Your sharp words echoed throughout the large hall as crimson dripped onto the floor and you approached the fear-stricken man. “For not only is he someone I hold dear to my heart, but he is also your Prince of the Seven Kingdoms and wields a sword better than I.”

“Y/n, that’s enough.” Queen Rhaenyra’s voice cut through your enraged fog, and you felt a familiar pair of hands grip your waist.

You leaned into Jace’s grasp and turned to the queen, who didn’t look angry. Her eyes had a smugness to them, but her face remained professional. Your father, on the other hand, couldn’t contain his smirk, proud of his eldest daughter.

“My queen, I hold you in the highest respect,” you announced, bowing your head to her, then turned back to the crowd of men. “But I don’t tolerate disrespect towards my beloved.” Your eyes narrowed like a viper's with a sharp tongue. “Let this fool be my last warning to you all. As his wound scars over, I want you all to see what the least I can do, because next time I’ll take a note from my father's book and let you keep your tongue.”

The room remained still and quiet as you made sure to look every person in the eye, asserting your seriousness. “Jacaerys, please take your betrothed to her chambers, and we’ll discuss her actions,” she spoke mainly to you, but the sparkle in her eyes told you she wasn’t mad. She was proud that someone stood up for her firstborn.

Jace pressed you against his front, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his scent washing over you and soothing your rage. “Come, my love,” he whispered softly, his voice calming you, though your hard exterior remained unmoved. Keeping a death stare fixed on the bloody face of the Lord, you allowed Jace to lead you out of the council chamber with a gentle hand on your lower back.

As you both walked down the hallway, silence enveloped you, broken only by the clicking of your shoes against the stone floor. Finally, you let out a loud sigh, releasing your frustrations, and glanced up at Jace, who was walking to your right. His attention was already on you, his lips curled into a knowing smile. He was used to your angry outbursts, especially since he knew he was one of the few (besides your late mother) who could calm you.

“I’m sorry,” you said softly as you both continued the long walk to your wing where your and your sisters' rooms were. “I know you can handle it yourself.” Your blood boiled as you thought of the way the older men looked at him, trying to offer their puny excuse of sons your way. “If I offended you, I apologize.”

A chuckle escaped from the Prince's mouth, making you pause in your step. With quick movements, Jace gently pushed you against the wall between two columns and pressed a heated kiss to your lips. You gasped, and he bit down on your parted bottom lip. “Please never apologize for caring for me,” he murmured, his lips barely leaving yours as his eyes bore into your own. “It doesn’t offend me knowing I have a strong woman by my side, willing to cut anyone down for speaking ill of my name.” Jace kissed you again, and you pressed your hands on his chest, gripping the black tunic with gold embroidery sewn into the fabric.

He pulled away to mumble, “I’m proud to be yours. And I can’t wait until you’re my wife.” His words made you melt like butter because you couldn’t wait either. You smiled up at him with sultry eyes.

“I can’t wait to call you husband.” Jace smiled brightly, pressing you back in for a kiss, making both of you smile into the act like grinning fools.

The kiss brought on a sense of excitement that sent chills down your spine, and a soft, almost imperceptible moan escaped your lips when his hands began to caress your waist.

Hearing your soft moans, Jacaerys dragged his tongue along your full bottom lip, making you part your mouth and allowing his tongue to slip in. Your moans grew embarrassingly louder, but they only drove the prince to kiss you harder.

His hands lowered to your hips, and without warning, he picked you up and pinned you to the wall. Your dress slid up to your thighs, allowing you to lock your ankles together, pulling him close until his groin matched your own. The stone wall was cold against your back, but with your betrothed pressing you against his hard, hot body, you had no complaints. Instead, you arched your back, making his stiffness rub against your core, leaving you craving more of this. More of him.

You could feel Jacaerys breath catch in his throat at the feeling of your body against his, and a small growl escaped his lips as his hips began to grind into yours, and his grip on your hips tightened as his eyes met yours, filled with desire.

“Y/n…we shouldn’t be doing this,” He murmured, but his body continued to betray his words, pressing against you more firmly. ���Anyone could see us…”

You slipped a hand behind his head as heat pool in your abdomen and you tugged on his curls making his close his eyes in a short bliss. Your lips curled as you pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth bucking your hips to add friction while your mouth trailed down to his neck pressing mouth open kissed to his pearly skin. “Ivestragī zirȳ ūndegon skoros nykeā sīr called bastard iksos capable hen.” Let them see what a so called bastard is capable of.

A low, almost guttural growl escaped from the Prince’s lips. “Hang va issa, beloved.” Jace secured his grip on you while your hands wrapped around his shoulders, fists clinging to his curls for dear life. “Open,” he commanded. If it were anyone but him or the queen, you would’ve laughed in their face, but for Jacaerys, you’d gladly walk off a cliff if he so desired. Hang on my beloved.

"I'm yours to command, my prince," you responded, your voice low and breathless. You parted your lips, but Jace couldn't help himself and pressed his open mouth to yours. With one hand, he raised your dress higher, his fingers slightly grazing your covered heat before ripping your stockings and excusing your cotton underwear.

When he pulled away, you immediately whimpered but were silenced by his pointer and middle finger shoving their way into your mouth. Your eyes widened at first, but as his brown eyes bore into yours, you began to suck his digits and even swirled your tongue around them. "By the gods, you’re perfect," he began. "And you’re all mine."

He slowly pulled his hand away from your mouth, making sure to caress your bottom lip. With haste, he reached under your bunched-up fabric to tease you slightly by gliding his soaked fingers against the already wet fabric of your undergarments.

"My Prince, please." Jace kissed your lips, hushing you as he pulled your coverings aside and pressed against your mound, sliding into your slick folds. He caressed you up and down, teasing your clit down to your entrance. "Gods."

Your head tilted back, hitting the stone wall in ecstasy as his rough fingers began to circle around your pearl. This wasn’t the first time Jace had touched you there. You both hadn’t been all that patient with waiting until you were wed, but as the honorable gentleman that he is, you hadn’t consummated anything because Jace really wanted to wait until the wedding night. However, that didn’t stop you both from getting your pleasure from other things. If it were up to you, the dragon rider would’ve already had the best ride of his life.

"Jace." You moaned out as he began the motion of figure eights, making your legs shake in delight.

"I love you like this, Princess." His hot breath hit your face as he leaned over you and kissed your parted lips. "When we wed, I plan on taking you in every nook and corner of this palace until you're full of my seed." Your cunt pooled at his words, and Jace could feel how wet you were becoming by the slushing sound his fingers made against your throbbing nerve. "You want that, my beloved?"

Loud moans spilled from your swollen lips as you helplessly nodded, knowing that if you didn’t respond in some way, he’d stop. “Yes,” you managed to get out as your abdomen tightened and your breath hitched, feeling that familiar, eye-blinding sensation start to form. “I can’t wait to be full of your children, letting everyone know what you did to me.” Jace kissed down your neck and sucked on that one spot that made you weak in the knees. “And I want them all to know how much I liked it.”

The prince sucked harder, and without realizing it, you began to yank at his curls, making his desire burn more intensely, especially as your moans increased and became shorter, signaling your very close end. “Cum syt issa, issa jorrāelagon milk issa fingers rūsīr aōha sweetness nyke jaelagon naejot ūndegon ao withering isse pleasure.” Cum for me, my love milk my fingers with your sweetness I want to see you withering in pleasure.

As his fingers continued their steady pace, rubbing against your clit, and his mouth worked against your neck, your body tensed in delight as your orgasm washed over you like a dragon's fire. No words left your parted lips, and you were grateful that Jace pressed his against yours in a kiss, because after that intense pleasure, you just wanted to be engulfed by nothing but him.

"I love you," you whimpered, making his boyish grin return to his face as he slightly pulled his head back to look at you. His hand slipped out from your undergarments, and he pulled your dress back down to cover your exposed thighs, keeping your skin hidden from view.

He sucked his fingers clean before he spoke. “Issa prūmia exists outside issa chest kesrio syt nyke’ve given ziry naejot ao se moment nyke tegon issa laesi va ao.” The brightest smile spread across your face, and as the two of you kissed, engrossed in the love surrounding you, someone clearing their throat made you both pull away like two deer caught by dogs. My heart exists outside my chest because I’ve given it to you the moment I land my eyes on you.

“Aōha valyrīha emagon gotten rōvēgrior, nephew.” Jace's face turned crimson from embarrassment, unlike the oversized pig of a man who had insulted him earlier, whose face was red with blood. Your Valyrian has gotten excellent, nephew.

You glared at your father, Daemon, as the prince carefully set you back on your feet and stood in front of you, nudging you behind him, between the columns. "But could you not corrupt my daughter before the wedding ceremony?" His knowing smirk could be seen over your beloved's shoulder, and he stood tall with his hands laced in front of him.

“Daemon-“ Jace began but your father raised a hand to stop him.

"Please just take her to her chambers before the Queen decides not to marry you a week from today." This news had you clenching Jace's hand, and he smiled down at you because the date hadn't been set yet. "And act surprised when she announces the news to you both, and please, no public displays of your love at least until after the wedding." Daemon shot them a sinful grin before nodding them off and walking past them.

"A week," you whispered with excitement, pulling Jacaerys into a loving kiss, which he returned with just as much enthusiasm. He grabbed your waist, began to pull you from the wall, and spun you around, making both of you laugh with joy.

Hoped you all enjoyed it’s been a while since I’ve written anything but I’m in my Jace era and I’m truthfully scared to be in it because I know my hearts going to be ripped out of my chest.

~ Caroline

[lovetwist]

Veil of Deception (I)

SYNOPSIS: In a world where political alliances are forged in blood and treachery lurks around every corner, you find yourself thrust into marriage with Feyd-Rautha, the enigmatic scion of House Harkonnen. Born to be his perfect mate, you grapple with the terrifying prospect of becoming entangled with a man known for his brutality, obsession, and madness. As your union unfolds, you navigate a landscape of deception and dark desires, struggling to find your footing in a marriage fraught with danger and uncertainty. Caught between duty and defiance, summon your strength and resilience to survive in a world where loyalty is a luxury and love is a dangerous game.

WARNINGS (R18+): mildly dub-con, smut, first time, weapons kink, mentions of violence, manipulations, genetic breeding, power play

Word Count: 3.5k

PART 2

Below the towering spires of obsidian and steel, against a backdrop of opulent extravagance that flaunted wealth and power, a tension hung heavy, pregnant with the promise of destiny.

As Lady Atreides, sole daughter of Leto Atreides, you stood poised on the precipice of a meeting that would shape the course of your future. Your heart seized with nerves as you awaited the arrival of your betrothed.

Since your 15th name day, you had known of your engagement to the na-Baron. It was an inescapable fate predetermined by the Bene Geserrit. Your mother, Lady Jessica, had gone against them by giving birth to Paul, a male heir for Leto. Two years later, she gave birth to you – a gift of compromise for both sides. In return, Lady Jessica and Leto achieved the familial harmony they wanted, through the sacrifice of their daughter.

Every year, the Harkonnens requested your portrait to be sent along with a lock of hair. In exchange, they sent House Atreides jewels, gold, silks, and spice; disguised bribes for the upkeep of such a fine lady. They had only sent a portrait of Feyd-Rautha once. It was taken during his coming-of-age ceremony, a lean young man dressed in black fighting leathers. You stared often at the picture, looking to find some clue that could reveal his character. His demeanor was unnaturally cold and collected, yet his dark eyes barely concealed a burning rage. You wondered if Feyd-Rautha poured over you pictures as you did his.

Years passed and the engagement felt more like a false formality than reality. Unlike other noble families, you never exchanged letters with Feyd-Rautha or even met as a courtesy. Having completed your Bene Geserrit training under your mother, you learned that such things did not matter when it came to pairings arranged by the Reverand Mother. You caught whispers of conversation between your mother and her Bene Geserrit sisters. There would be no chance of failure, this union would be perfect. You were genetically engineered to be his absolute mate. Attraction and physical compatibility was assured. Everything about you was designed to lure him in – your scent, your voice, your everything was to be his undoing from the moment he would lay eyes on you.

Yet the thought gave you no confidence as you stood here now in Giedi Prime. Sexual attraction differed greatly from love, he didn’t need emotions to breed you. Feyd-Rautha, the enigmatic scion of House Harkonnen, was a man followed by countless stories of brutality and wickedness. You heard that he laughed when Reverand Mother subjected him to the Gom Jabbar. He didn’t endure pain, he reveled in it.

Your palms grew clammy, breath becoming increasingly shallow as you pondered the dark fate that awaited you in the form of this formidable man. Would Feyd-Rautha be the embodiment of all the whispered sin that had reached your ears, or would he prove to be an enigma beyond your wildest imaginings? With each passing moment, the anticipation mounted, weaving a delicate web of uncertainty around your heart as your braced yourself to meet the man who held your destiny in his hands.

The grand doors of the chamber swung open with a regal flourish, your heart quickened its pace, echoing the rhythm of anticipation that thrummed through the air. Through the gray haze of incense, you beheld Feyd-Rautha, a vision of masculinity and charisma, whose presence seemed to command the very essence of the room. His eyes met yours across the expanse of the chamber, a charged moment filled with unspoken tension, as if the universe itself held its breath in anticipation of this meeting.

You were ensnared in a tempest of conflicting emotions, thoughts swirling like sand caught in a desert storm. You questioned your own composure, wondering if you could maintain the facade of confidence expected of a lady of House Atreides in the presence of the young Harkonnen and the terrifying Baron. Feyd-Rautha may be your future husband, but he was not required to provide you a good nor happy life. After all, why would he? You were the daughter of his family’s sworn enemy. He may have been bound in marriage to you by centuries of bloodline manipulation, but he maintained a free will.

Would his words falter, betraying the tumult and hatred raging within him? Or would he summon the grace and poise befitting his station, masking the turmoil that churned beneath the surface? Your apprehension mounted, a symphony of doubt and fear playing out in the recesses of your mind. Yet, amidst the chaos of your thoughts, a glimmer of determination flickered like a distant star on the horizon, urging you forward into the unknown with a quiet resolve born of necessity.

For in the labyrinthine dance of politics and power that defined their world, you knew that you could ill afford to falter now. With a steadying breath, you squared your shoulders and prepared to face your destiny, whatever form it may take in the guise of a madman husband.

Feyd-Rautha, with an air of effortless confidence, strode forward, his gaze a smoldering ember that ignited a spark within your soul. In that fleeting moment, as your paths converged amidst the darkness and mist of the surroundings, you felt a surge of something unfamiliar yet undeniable—an electric current that crackled between your bodies, binding your fates together inextricably.

Words eluded you as you struggled to articulate the wave of emotions that threatened to consume you. Yet, in the silence that stretched between you two, you found solace in the understanding that this meeting was but the first step on a journey fraught with uncertainty and possibility. He bowed without taking his eyes off you. In greeting, you extended a gloved hand, Feyd-Rautha grasped it with a firm sense of resolve. You knew that your lives were now intertwined in ways neither could fully comprehend nor stop.

And in that moment, amidst the hazy dream of your shared future, you glimpsed the faintest flicker of something akin to desire dance across his eyes. You noticed a dilation of his pupils as he laid a kiss on the back of your hand. Then, his grasp of you tightened and tightened. Your face contorted in pain as a crooked smirk appeared on his features.

In the dim light of the chamber, your eyes traced the contours of his cheekbones and the fullness of his lips, searching for traces of the young man you once memorized in a portrait. Yet, try as you might, only a beast stood before you in the guise of a gentleman. When he stood at his full height with his darkened leer, you held yourself back from cowering. His gaze was vicious, his smile vulgar with blackened teeth, and he exuded an air of savagery.

“How delightful it is to finally meet you, Lady Atreides.”

His deep, raspy voice caught you off guard. What a performer he could be! Long gone was the ethereal allure he displayed when first entering the room, now you could see him for what he was.

“Likewise, my Lord Feyd-Rautha.”

Uncertainty lingered like a specter in the room, casting a pall over the impending union that would bind you with him. You let your gaze lower onto the floor as your parents approached to talk with the Baron and na-Baron.

You could feel his intense gaze burning through your body even as you moved away to be with your brother. Could his eyes pierce through your facade, unraveling the intricacies of your soul like fine thread? Such questions gnawed at the edges of your consciousness, casting shadows on your will to remain strong.

As the evening progressed, the tension in the air thickened like a fog, suffocating any semblance of ease. Seated at the long banquet table surrounded by your family, the Harkonnens, and noble guests, you found yourself ensnared in a delicate dance of propriety and peril.

Across from you, Feyd-Rautha lounged in his seat, a predatory gleam in his eyes as he watched you with unabashed fascination. His demeanor was that of a predator toying with its prey, his every movement calculated to instill a sense of discomfort. Your family would leave to Arrakis after the wedding festivities, then you would be truly left alone with him. The precariousness of your position tugged at your heart.

As the meal commenced, the atmosphere grew increasingly tense, punctuated by the clinking of silverware and the strained chatter of polite conversation. You forced yourself to engage in small talk with those seated around you, your words measured and careful, lest you betray the fear that coiled like a serpent in the pit of your stomach.

Despite your best efforts to maintain a facade of composure, you couldn't shake the feeling of being scrutinized by those dark, probing eyes. It was as if Feyd-Rautha could see straight through you, peeling away the layers of pretense to expose your most secret vulnerabilities. You found yourself growing increasingly unsettled. You longed to escape, to retreat to the safety of your chambers and away from the suffocating presence of the Harkonnen heir.

But you knew that there would be no reprieve, no sanctuary from the darkness that had descended upon your life like a shadow. For tonight, and every night thereafter, you were bound to him by the cruel machinations of fate, condemned to walk a path fraught with danger and uncertainty. And as you raised your glass to Feyd-Rautha’s toast to your impending union, you couldn't help but wonder what horrors awaited you.

“To the most beautiful bride in the world, I will certainly savor tomorrow’s…memories.”

The men at the table chuckled darkly while your father’s and brother’s jaws clenched. You lay your delicate hand over theirs, do not mourn me. If I am to die, I shall do so with honor.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

As your mother lowered your veil, you noticed tears forming in her eyes. You never thought you’d live to see the day the impenetrable Lady Jessica shed tears for you. I must really be walking into my death, you thought.

You looked at your reflection in the mirror. There were no words to describe the vision you saw. Crafted from the finest silk and satin, your wedding gown exuded an air of majestic elegance with flowing skirts cascading like waves of moonlight around your figure.

The bodice, adorned with intricate beadwork and delicate lace, hugged your curves with a tailored precision, accentuating a slender waist and graceful neckline. A row of tiny diamonds trailed down your body, gleaming against the smooth expanse of your back. While the front of the dress was conservative, your back was tastefully exposed through a combination of sheer silk, diamonds and pearls.

Your hair was pinned neatly into a bun with a delicate braid on each side. The veil was gauzy, making your face seem like a daydream. The ivory fabric of your dress pooled at your feet in a sea of frothy tulle and satin, forming a train that trailed behind you like a regal cloak. The wedding dress was embroidered with delicate motifs of growing vines, mountains and ocean waves – a reminder of Caladan.

At your collar, a border of intricate lacework added a touch of timeless elegance, its patterns catching the light in a dazzling display of shimmering beauty. With every movement, the gown seemed to whisper tales of romance and splendor, a clear hope to the love and devotion the seamstress had prayed you’d find. You choked down a sob.

You’ve made me an angel for him to ruin.

The wedding hall was adorned with such grandeur, you’d expect the emperor’s daughter was getting married instead. The flickering silver torches cast dancing shadows upon the ebony stone walls. As guests gathered in hushed reverence, the air crackled with anticipation, as if the very walls themselves whispered of your impeding damnation.

At the front of the hall, beneath a canopy of arched black silk, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen stood, an imposing figure in his ceremonial garb. His porcelain skin was stark against the darkness of his clothes as he awaited his bride.

You approached with measured steps, hardening your grip on your father’s arm. Your eyes must’ve betrayed your fear and resignation because you could see Feyd-Rautha biting the inside of his cheek to suppress a laugh.

As you reached the altar, his lips curled into a predatory smile, his voice dripping with malice as he spoke the vows that bound you together in unholy matrimony. The words echoed through the hall like a curse, sealing your fate alongside his.

As you exchanged rings, a union forged in the fires of despair, you vowed that though your body may be bound to Feyd-Rautha, your spirit would remain forever free.

Standing before him, you felt the weight of his gaze like chains around your soul.

With a solemn nod from the officiant, you and Feyd-Rautha were instructed to seal your union with a kiss. He removed your veil, his eyes lingering on your face. As his lips met yours, a shiver ran down your spine.

The kiss was surprisingly gentle, but devoid of love. You gasped when his tongue entered your mouth. It was a macabre dance of dominance and submission, a twisted mockery of affection that left a bitter taste upon your lips. You try to push him away, but he holds your hands firm against his chest. The Harkonnens roar with applause and laughter. As you pulled away, a sense of profound emptiness washed over you, a hollow echo of the dreams and desires that had once burned within your heart.

The rest of the wedding banquet was a blur. As you were led to the high table by Feyd-Rautha's side, you couldn't shake the feeling of being trapped, ensnared in a web of malevolence. The guests, mostly Harkonnen allies, noble families, and sycophants, feigned smiles and exchanged whispers, their eyes gleaming with a perverse curiosity at the spectacle of your union.

The feast itself was a decadent display of excess, with platters of exotic delicacies and goblets overflowing with rich wines. But the opulence only served to accentuate the suffocating atmosphere, as the room was closing in on you with each additional piece of ornate furniture.

Feyd-Rautha, ever the consummate host, played his part with calculated charm, his laughter ringing hollow in your ears as he regaled the guests with tales of conquest and murder. You watched him from across the table, his features twisted in a mask of false benevolence, and you couldn't help but feel a surge of revulsion mingled with a sliver of pity. He, too, was playing a part – ever the performer. 

Throughout the banquet, you were subjected to the leering gazes and whispered innuendos of the Harkonnen cronies, their crude remarks slicing through the thin veneer of civility like daggers. But you held your composure, steeling yourself against their taunts and jeers, refusing to let them see the cracks in your mask.

As the night wore on and the wine flowed freely, the mood grew increasingly raucous, the revelry descending into a frenzied ecstasy. You found yourself adrift in a sea of faces, each one a grotesque caricature of humanity, their laughter and applause a cruel mockery of your predicament.

And amidst the chaos and debauchery, you couldn't help but wonder what was in store for you, chained to a man whose heart was as black as midnight. As you absentmindedly finished your last sip of wine, Feyd-Rautha stood suddenly, his chair loudly rattling against the granite floors. A chilling silence descended upon the hall.

He extended a hand towards you and you immediately understood his intentions. You departed the hall, hand-in-hand as men watched with envy and women stared with pity. You couldn’t bear to look at the faces of your family, afraid that you might beg them to take you home.

---------------------------------------------------------------

As you left the banquet hall with Feyd-Rautha, a heavy sense of foreboding settled over you. The echoes of the evening's macabre festivities lingered in your mind, each laughter, each lewd jest, a reminder of the gilded cage in which you now found yourself imprisoned.

You walked beside Feyd-Rautha, his grip firm upon your hand, guiding you through the labyrinthine corridors of the Harkonnen estate. There was an eerie stillness in the air. With each step, you felt the weight of your predicament pressing down upon you, the reality of your situation sinking in like a cold, unyielding truth.

You stole a glance at Feyd-Rautha, his expression unreadable in the dim light. Occasionally fireworks would alight by the window, allowing you to see his eyes gleaming with a predatory hunger that made you look away immediately.

As you walked in silence, your mind raced with a flurry of thoughts and emotions, a storm raging within you. You couldn't help but wonder what awaited in the bedchamber. You weren’t ignorant to the act of consummating a marriage, but your husband was no ordinary man. What horrors lay in store for a woman bound to a man as cruel and cunning as Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen… what would satisfy a man like him? But amidst the fear and uncertainty, a flicker of desire burned within you, a stubborn resolve to claim him as much as he claims you.

He led you into a large room with double doors. Compared to the gaudy decorations of the wedding hall, this room was relatively simple: a chamber of dark elegance and understated grandeur. There were only the bare necessities required of a bedroom, but each piece had been impeccably handmade with the most exquisite of materials. At its center, a massive four-poster bed stands as the focal point, its frame crafted from polished ebony wood, intricately carved with motifs of serpents and ivy. Perfectly sized above the bed, stretching over the ceiling was pure reflective glass. You swallowed thickly, this man had no shame.

A grand chandelier hangs from the center of the ceiling, its crystals casting prismatic rays of light across the room, illuminating the space with a haunting allure.

The walls are lined with dark, navy paneling, adorned sparingly with antique tapestries depicting scenes of forgotten battles and dangerously sharpened weapons. A sleek, black writing desk sits nearby, stacked with books on war strategies and adorned with quill and parchment.

A sense of regal simplicity pervades the space, each element carefully curated to its master. This is a sanctuary of solitude, where one can retreat from the heaviness of the Harkonnen world and immerse themselves in the embrace of peace.

Busy admiring the room, you didn’t notice Feyd-Rautha locking the doors behind you. You tensed when you suddenly felt the coldness of a blade against your back. With one precise slice, he cut your wedding dress open leading all the decorative pearls to fall to the ground. Your hands instinctively went to cover yourself, but his newfound grip on your wrists was even faster.

“You are mine now, pet.” His hands slowly guided yours down as he ripped away the rest of your dress. “Do not resist me, I want to see you in all your beauty.”

Your face flushed as you looked away from him. You knew objecting to his wish was futile, perhaps if you appeased him then he’d be gentler. You learned this was a useless thought the moment you saw his expression – raw, animalistic hunger chipped away at the edges of his sanity. His pupils dilated so wide that his eyes became monochromatic orbs of obsidian.

He removed his own clothes with swift and lithe movements, revealing pure sculpted muscle. Through the rapid rise and fall of his chest, you could see that he was barely holding back his lust. Feyd-Rautha was going to devour you without leaving a single morsel for the world.

“I-I… If you hurt me, I will scream.”

“Go ahead, it’ll only stroke my ego if you do. Scream loud enough for the whole banquet to hear. Let them know what pleasures your husband bestows upon you.”

With each step he took towards you, you took two steps back. When you felt the bed come into contact with the back of your knees, you realize you’ve been trapped.

“Lie down.” he commanded.

Sensing the tonal shift in his voice, you obeyed. You felt his long, slender fingers enter your most intimate place. When he curved against your inner wall, you let out an involuntarily moan – which he quickly swallowed from your lips. You had touched yourself before, but only rarely during occasions when you couldn’t sleep and the moon was hanging high.

However, this was different – he was different. His fingers reached places where yours never could. Your body made lewd sounds as he pumped in and out of you with torturous speed. The way you grind against his hand was indecent, but he rewarded you with such sweet friction. Hearing his low pants against your ear, you couldn't help but writhe into his touch. When you came undone, he smirked and licked your essence from his fingers.

Before you could catch your breath, he was on top of you again; caging you between his toned arms. He reached out to grasp your chin before roughly crashing his lips down on yours. The kiss was all-consuming, he was drinking in every part of you without letting you breathe. Your eyes wandered down to where his member stood unnaturally stiff and enlarged. Your new husband sneered at your expression before his right hand circled around your throat.

“Your throat… it shall be my axis tonight.”

[nalyniavadelletargaryen]

[ HOTD - Greif-striken Aegon ]

Summary: At the Queen Dowager's request, you take on the role of Jaehaera’s primary caregiver but bear the burden of catching the King’s eye.

Warnings: canon Aegon + dubcon / noncon + mentions of death + slight angst + hurt/comfort + smut

Grief-stricken Aegon is surprised to see you playing with his daughter in the garden, temporarily distracted from his anger by a curiosity about you. Jaehaera sits on your lap as you play with her, keeping her happy and your focus solely on her. Although the King doesn’t recognize you, he hesitates before approaching you, his anger turning into interest when you smile at him. You had been warned by his mother to be cautious of him, given the grief in the castle after the loss of the young prince. Despite your reservations, you decide to be kind and give Aegon the benefit of the doubt as you respectfully acknowledge him and then return your attention to Jaehera.

Grief-stricken Aegon leaves you with his daughter, slipping back into a quiet rage as the sight of her reminds him of Jaehaerys. You cradle the young girl close as her father stalks down the stone halls. Sighing in relief, you watch his silver locks disappear around a corner, completely relaxing when Jaehrra smiles. In a month, she had grown attached to you, mistakenly calling you 'mama' once or twice, but you always managed to correct her. Although your heart fluttered at her recognition, you knew very well that her birth mother, Queen Helena, needed no more strife and that prying ears would quickly spread the rumor of her quick attachment to you. When it happened a third time, you corrected Jaehaera as always, cheeks warm with gratitude. However, your decision remained firm. Unfortunately, you were not quick enough to hush her with a gentle reprimand, and Sir Larys overheard the young princess's adoration for you as he passed by the library where you read to her before supper. He wasted little time using the new revelation to his advantage. He tells the King of Jaehera's love for you, explaining it as a harmless but vaguely dangerous trust shift. Aegon feeds into his observation with contained interest.

Grief-stricken Aegon, overcome with sorrow, sends for you the following evening, calling you to the council room after a long day of war planning. You come at his command after putting Jahera to bed and bidding the Queen goodnight. You take your time to reach him, rightfully afraid of the man you've heard raging about the castle in a constant state of vengeance. You're particularly fearful of your growing desire to feel his pain somehow. Jaehaera is the sweet and well-mannered maiden child, much like her mother, and you can only begin to imagine how lovely her brother had been. You know well that pitying their father shouldn't be your prominent state of mind, but having a tender heart makes it devastatingly hard not to. So, you heed his call, entering the council room and standing at the doors with your head held preemptively low. You greet him quietly, withholding the tremor in your tone as you try to steel yourself against his scrutinizing stare.

Grief-stricken Aegon was far from displeased by the sight of you. Since he briefly saw you in the Keep's courtyard, hed been considering many details and assets you possessed. You appeared pious, gentle, and careful in how you presented yourself. You held the traits he knew his mother had explicitly sought: modesty and fairness. Aegon assumed you were a young lady, yet how you carried yourself made him believe you had surpassed his sister's maturity. He took note of the seven-pointed star necklace you kept clasped around your neck; the gold jewelry glinted on your bare skin, bringing out the light colors of the dresses you wore. You never bared green, a minuscule detail that pleased him. The influence of his family hadn’t reached you, and it was an odd relief. You had no allegiance to an agenda, were content with your role, and were not invested in the schemes around him. In his eyes, you were perfect, pure, and identical to the maiden herself.

Greif-stricken Aegon doesn’t confess his sins to you, though. You were never bringing to light the thoughts he’s had about you. The very sound of your voice started his descent into obsession. Hearing you sing soothing lullabies to Jaehaera, seeing you cradle her close, watching you praise her most minor achievements drove his mind to places it’d refrained from going after the death of his son. Motherly. You are sound of mind and careful with the last of his children. You embodied what his dear sister's wife couldn’t: motherhood. It drove Aegon mad in the dead night, his chambers filled with the sound of his moans as he fisted his cock to the very thought of you.

Greif-stricken Aegon refrains from forcing himself on you the first night you visit him, choosing to pry into your life with direct questions and bittersweet compliments for most of the exchange. You’re relieved to experience his generally pleasant side, amused by the scathing jokes he tells between conversations, and pleased to make him smile with your witty remarks. Your walls of caution break down little by little as he invites your company, letting you recount stories of impractical adventures with his daughter and surprisingly invested in hearing them. You ramble a bit, unsure how to feel about his direct attention and nervous to speak so casually to the King himself. Aegon reassures you that your talkative nature is anything but frustrating, reaching out to lift your chin and graze the warm skin of your cheeks with his fingertips. Your dormant blush brightens when he smiles at you, leaning in to kiss your parted lips tenderly before you can stop him. You had no intention of kissing him back, utterly shocked he'd even be so bold with you, to begin with, but he refused to let you shy away from him. One kiss spiraled into several, every one messier than the last, and your head spinning as the lingering bitterness of wine on his tongue soaked into yours. Aegon pressed for more when you pulled away to breathe. It was all too much, and you rushed to excuse yourself and leave him for the night. He didn't stop you, loving the sight of fear and excitement consuming your tender exterior at his will.

Greif-stricken Aegon calls on you often after that evening. He is no longer satisfied with pleasing himself alone. Aegon is reckless with his dependence on you, not caring that you put up a fight every time, trying to reason with him as he buries his cock in your fluttering walls. You scratch, cry, and beg. Doing and saying anything for the slightest chance of mercy, but Aegon spares you none. He forces pleasure into your veins, slaving away in your cunt night after night and committed to coating your untouched womb with his seed. You feel trapped in the cycle he starts, fulfilling your duties by day and spreading your legs for him at night. It tore you to pieces that your body ached for him constantly, the very shape of cock engraved into you, the space between your thighs undeniably drenched hours before he had you entrapped in his embrace. It’s distracting. He is distracting, and it's no help that he begins to spend more time with his daughter to spend even more with you. Aegon’s hands constantly wander where they shouldn’t, tracing your curves over the binds of your dress as you tend to Jaehaera, and it takes all of your will not to run from him. He feeds on your unease, your breaths slower, eyes fixed in the distance, and the apple of your cheeks turning red. He tells you to settle down, focus on your duties, and disregard his lingering presence, and by the gods grace, you can do just that. It’s a relief that his mother, grandsire, or anyone of consequence steals him away. You say nothing to keep him at your side, missing the feeling of his hands, the sound of his voice, and the air of control he envelopes you in, but joyous to be free of him. You can focus. You can calm the heat in your core.

Greif-striken Aegon takes no issue with keeping you in his bed for hours on end, marveling at the sight of you falling apart on his cock, begging for more of it as your legs shake from another high. You’ve given up on running, on reasoning, on being moderately intelligent, enduring the deep thrusts and mind-numbing pace he sets in thinly veiled excitement. There’s no point of hiding uit any longer, no viable way of convincing him you don’t want him to take you. Its your obligation to please him, to be that perfect little mistress, to give his lonely daughter a new playmate is it not? So, you resort to embracing his attention - as unforgiving and possessive as it may be.

Grief-stricken Aegon doesn’t ask your permission to release inside of you, forcing his seed as deep as possible, holding you down in a vice grip anytime you attempt to writhe away. It’s warm, thick, and filling. You’ve only tried to bathe once after hours of him bedding you, and he was furious. From then on, Aegon denied you the choice of washing the evidence of his claim on you away and commanding you to let his seed leak from between your thighs for a minimum of a fortnight. Appalled and rightfully defiant to the idea, you first threatened to confess to his mother about your shared deeds, but Aegon taunted you. He knew you’d rather suffer his stipulation than endure the wrath of Queen Alicent’s modesty. “Tell her and see what becomes of you..” he seethes into your ear, hand tangled in your fallen hair to keep you bent over the edge of his bed, snapping his hips harder against you when a half-hearted cry falls from your lips. You won't tell her. You can't even begin to think of unburdening yourself without acknowledging the joy you took in being used for his pleasure. Even now, as your essence dripped down your inner thighs, coating his cock with every unforgiving movement he made, you simply gave in to sin. His sin.

Grief-stricken Aegon is unsurprised when he notices signs that you are carrying his child. You become emotionally and physically sensitive. You continue caring for Jaehera while trying to hide your changing demeanor, keeping it a secret. However, Aegon cannot help but stay close to you and treats you as if you're made from glass with little regard for those who notice him showing you favor, which draws the interest of his council members—especially his ever-vigilant mother. Days pass before the maester leaves tea for you. On the night Queen Alicent visits your chambers, she expresses disappointment and scolds you for being careless. You hesitate to follow the Dowager Queen's advice, refusing to drink the remedy left for you and crying the entire night after she takes her leave.

Greif-stricken Aegon hears of your pregnancy the day after, ever so gleeful to endure his mother's berating and nowhere near ashamed of what he's done to you. He tells you it won't be the last time you carry his child, sitting you on his lap in the privacy of his chambers as the day comes to an end, and you haven't the emotional strength to keep fighting him. What's done is done, and you have no heart for ridding yourself of his so-called ‘gift.’ It's sick and twisted, but you've fallen into the headspace he's wanted for so long. A willing servant, one dedicated to her role in his domain of power, and one who will bear as many children as he desires.

What more could a lovely, loyal girl like you ask for?

A/N: Why is it so hard to write smut for this man?! It's usually so easy, but now I'm struggling. It's unfair because I have a lot of great ideas…

{ BONUS CONTENT + }

Credits to the creator 💚 He owns 85% of the space in my gallery app. I'm obsessed, and it shows…

[seafarersdream]

The Draconic | 18+ (Modern AU Aegon Targaryen x Y/N)

When you’re in London, The Draconic is the place to be. It’s only the hottest club in town, where the drinks are as fiery as the dragons they’re named after, owned by Aegon Targaryen, the self-proclaimed nightlife king. Enter Y/N, Helaena’s best friend, who somehow finds herself tagging along, knowing Helaena’s outings usually end with a story worth telling (or hiding).

TW // Explicit sexual content, profanities, rough sex, mild BDSM elements, substance use (alcohol), smoking.

The Draconic exudes an air of mystery and exclusivity, with its grand entrance flanked by imposing dragon sculptures and the soft glow of green and gold lights illuminating the facade.

Inside, sultry Bossa Nova music drifts through the air, mingling with the soft hum of conversation and clinking glasses. The main lounge is a spectacle of emerald and gold hues, with plush velvet seating and marble floors adorned with dragon motifs. Crystal chandeliers cast a shimmering light over the scene, creating an almost otherworldly ambiance.

At the center of the revelry, basking in the attention, stands Aegon Targaryen. He is every bit the king of this lavish domain, exuding confidence and charm as he mingles with the elite guests. His presence is magnetic, drawing eyes and whispers as he moves through the room, a glass of the finest bourbon in hand.

Y/N stood at the entrance of The Draconic, her eyes wide with awe as she took in the grandeur of the club. “Fuck me, this place is something else, Hel,” she muttered, her voice dripping with astonishment.

Helaena, with a cheeky grin, looped her arm through Y/N’s. “Told you, love. My brother couldn’t do subtle if it slapped him in the face.”

Y/N grinned. “Just promise me we won't end up in the tabloids... again.”

Helaena laughed, shaking her head. “Oh, darling, wherever Aegon goes, the cameras follow. It's like he's got his own bloody paparazzi fan club.”

Y/N snorted. “And it doesn’t help that your brother goes through London socialites faster than toilet paper in a public loo.”

Helaena rolled her eyes. “Tell me about it. Last week, he was dating some heiress named Daphne. This week, it’s a Russian model called Tatiana. Next week, who knows? Perhaps the prime minister’s daughter.”

They made their way inside, the sultry Bossa Nova music wrapping around them like a velvet cloak. The air was perfumed with the scent of expensive cologne and the subtle, smoky undertone of fine cigars. As they passed through the grand foyer, Y/N couldn't help but marvel at the dragon sculptures and the exquisite marble flooring.

“No phones allowed, remember,” Helaena reminded her, handing over their devices to the stern-looking security guard.

They entered the main lounge, and Y/N felt as if she'd stepped into another world. Patrons lounged on emerald green velvet seats, their conversations low and conspiratorial. The bar, a stunning creation of green onyx and gold, was the centerpiece of the room, with bartenders expertly mixing drinks for the elite clientele.

“There he is,” Helaena said, nudging Y/N. “Aegon.”

At the heart of the room, Aegon Targaryen commanded the space. His silver hair was slicked back, and his suit was tailored to perfection. He exuded an effortless charm, a faint, knowing smile playing on his lips as he entertained his guests. The golden dragon pin on his lapel caught the light, a symbol of his dominion over this lavish playground.

“Come now, let's go say hi,” Helaena urged, dragging Y/N through the throng of people.

As they approached, Aegon’s eyes flicked towards them, a slow, calculating smile spreading across his face. “Sister! And this must be…?” he inquired, his voice smooth and welcoming, yet laced with a hint of something darker.

Y/N steeled herself, trying to exude confidence. “Y/N,” she introduced herself, noting that up close, Aegon was even more striking—his silver hair and lilac eyes giving him an almost ethereal allure.

“Ah, so this is the Y/N I’ve heard so much about,” Aegon said with a chuckle, his eyes lingering on her.

Helaena shot him a playful but warning glare. “Stop flirting with my best friend, Aegon. Go find another prey,” she quipped, though there was an edge to her tone that suggested she meant it.

Aegon chuckled lowly, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I was merely admiring,” he said, his voice dripping with insincere innocence.

Helaena stuck her tongue out at him and grabbed Y/N's arm, dragging her toward the bar. “Come on, let’s get you something to drink.”

She ordered two Dragon Blood cocktails, which arrived looking unnervingly realistic, the deep red liquid swirling ominously in the glass.

Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling of eyes boring into the back of her head. She took a sip of her drink, trying to ignore the unease. But she had a pretty good guess as to who was responsible for the intense gaze.

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Y/N and Helaena were well into their cups, each clutching a glass of Dark Sister cocktail. The liquid inside was an enchanting, a sinister shade of dark red almost purple, flecked with silver specks that swirled hypnotically. The taste was a heady mix of pomegranate and absinthe, with a smoky undertone that left a tantalizing burn in its wake.

Surrounded by a veritable graveyard of empty glasses—was this their eighth drink? Eleventh? They’d lost count hours ago—the two friends were deep in a rambling conversation about Helaena’s eccentric family.

“I mean, can you believe it?” Helaena slurred, her cheeks flushed with a rosy glow. “Mum's dating Rhaenyra.”

Y/N nearly choked. “Rhaenyra? As in, your half-sister Rhaenyra? The one who also has kids with your uncle Daemon?”

Helaena giggled, nodding vigorously. “Tell me about it. Every time I turn around, there's another plot twist. Yes, that one! So now, technically, my mum is dating my half-sister. It’s like our family tree is a vine, just tangling and looping all over the place.”

Y/N burst into laughter, almost spilling her drink. “That’s bloody brilliant. Do they make you call her mum or sis?”

Helaena cackled, nearly tipping off her stool. “Oh, gods, it’s even worse. Mum’s taken to calling her Nyra in that sickeningly sweet voice. And don't get me started on the kids—Joffrey, my little nephew, is fucking confused on how to address Alicent, bless him.”

Y/N was in stitches, tears streaming down her face. “I can’t even—imagine the Christmas dinners!”

Helaena grinned, raising her glass. “Here’s to family. Because who needs enemies when you’ve got relatives like mine?”

They clinked their glasses, the liquid inside shimmering under the club's lights. Y/N leaned in conspiratorially. “So, what’s the deal with Aemond? I haven’t seen him in ages.”

Helaena chuckled, shaking her head. “Oh, Aemond. He’s gone completely off the grid. Last I heard, he was up north in Stromness. When I spoke to him, he was convinced he’d found evidence of a kraken. Sent me a photo of some squiggly line in the water and everything.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t he a marine biologist or something?”

Helaena nodded, her grin widening. “Yeah, that’s the one. But he’s got this bizarre obsession with mythical creatures.”

Y/N laughed, this time spilling almost half of her drink. “Does he have a little notebook for his ‘discoveries’ too?”

Helaena snorted. “Oh, he’s got notebooks, alright. Filled with sketches of ‘sightings’ and elaborate plans to capture a sea serpent. We’re talking full-on mad scientist vibes.”

Y/N could hardly contain her amusement. “I can just picture him, all serious, scanning the horizon for a glimpse of a mythical beast. Does he ever actually do any real marine biology work?”

Helaena took another sip of her drink. “He does, but only when he’s not busy chasing legends. Last Christmas, he gave us all ‘Unseelie Repellent Spray.’ It was just water in a fancy bottle, but he was dead serious about it.”

Y/N shook her head in amusement. “Your family is a goldmine of entertainment, Hel. I don’t know how you keep up with it.”

Helaena shrugged, a playful smile on her lips. “It’s either laugh or cry, and I’d much rather laugh.

Suddenly, Helaena felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned to find Oscar Tully standing there, his red, curly hair as wild as ever. His boyish face was littered with freckles, and he wore his signature lopsided grin.

“Oscar!” Helaena exclaimed, her eyes lighting up.

“Hel!” Oscar replied, matching her enthusiasm.

The breakup had been mutual, and they’d managed to stay on good terms. They launched into small talk, catching up on life since they last saw each other.

“So, how’s the trout farm going?” Helaena asked.

Oscar rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Swimmingly, thanks for asking. Someone’s got to keep the world supplied.”

Y/N watched the exchange with amusement.

Oscar turned to her with a grin. “Mind if I steal Hel away for a bit? I promise to return her in one piece.”

Y/N waved her hand dramatically. “Oh, by all means, take her.”

He offered his arm to Helaena with a playful bow. “Milady?”

Helaena rolled her eyes but took his arm. As Y/N watched them blend into the crowd, she decided she’d had enough alcohol for one night. She could bet everything she had that Helaena would come back as drunk as George IV.

Standing up, she stumbled a bit and decided to find a quieter place to collect her thoughts. She remembered spotting some private booths earlier, each with high-backed, gold-trimmed seats and curtains that could be drawn for privacy. Each booth had a unique dragon nameplate.

She randomly picked one marked “Sunfyre,” thinking it would be empty.

To her shock, inside she found Aegon reclined luxuriously on the plush seat, his suit jacket discarded and shirt unbuttoned. The stunning brunette was on her knees between his legs, her head bobbing rhythmically as she performed the act with evident expertise. Her dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, and Aegon’s hand was entangled in her locks, guiding her movements with a mixture of roughness and intensity.

Y/N’s eyes widened as she took in the scene, her breath catching in her throat. The woman’s lips glistened as they slid up and down Aegon’s cock, her hands working in tandem to heighten his pleasure. The air was thick with the sounds of their illicit encounter—the soft, wet noises of the brunette’s efforts and Aegon’s low, guttural groans of satisfaction.

His eyes were closed, his head tilted back against the booth, lost in the sensations. His grip on the brunette’s hair tightened as he pulled her closer, his hips thrusting slightly in response. But then, as if sensing the intrusion, he opened his eyes and locked onto Y/N’s stunned gaze.

For a moment, neither moved. Y/N stood frozen, her heart pounding in her chest, unable to tear her eyes away from the intimate scene. Aegon’s expression shifted from pleasure to surprise.

Before he could say anything, Y/N snapped out of her stupor, spinning on her heel and practically fleeing from the booth. Her mind raced, the vivid image of Aegon seared into her memory. She needed a drink—something strong—to process what she had just witnessed. The night had taken an unexpected turn, and she wasn’t sure if she was ready for where it was heading.

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Y/N ordered two of the strongest cocktails served at the bar. The bartender, with a knowing smile, brought her a pair of Death by Flames. She downed the first in one go, feeling the intense heat and smoky flavors hit her like a fiery wave, but realized nothing could erase the image of Aegon from her mind.

“Motherfucker,” she muttered, cursing at herself. “Why do I always have the shittiest luck in the entire country?”

Cursing under her breath, she berated herself and her rotten luck. With frustration bubbling up, she decided to make a beeline for the loo, hoping that a splash of cold water might help clear her head.

Y/N stumbled into the bathroom, taking in the dragon-shaped faucets and sinks made of green marble. Gold accents and dragon motifs were everywhere, maintaining the club’s theme. Soft, ambient lighting in shades of green and gold created a warm, inviting atmosphere, with hidden LED strips along the walls and floor adding subtle highlights that enhanced the overall ambiance without overpowering the space.

She splashed her face repeatedly with water, each splash accompanied by a string of colorful profanities. “Bloody hell, piss off, for fuck's sake!”

She glanced at her reflection, seeing the crazed look and blown pupils. “Great, now I look like I’m the one who just gave someone else a fucking blowjob,” she groaned.

She fumbled with her bag, pulling out a pack of cigarettes, hoping to calm her frayed nerves. As she lit up and took a deep drag, she caught her reflection again and decided it was time for a monologue, just to vent her frustration.

“Alright, Y/N, let’s have a little chat. What the actual fuck were you thinking? Did you honestly believe you’d find a quiet spot in a place called The Draconic? Clearly, you’ve lost the plot.”

She took another drag, pacing back and forth. “Oh, sure, let’s follow Helaena. What could possibly go wrong? Well, let me tell you, everything. First, you walk in on Aegon, the living embodiment of a Greek god getting a blow job from a woman who probably just stepped out of a lingerie commercial. And you? You're standing here, looking like you've just crawled out of a bloody coal mine. Fabulous.”

She paused, flicking ash into the sink. “Why, oh why, did I think coming to this club was a good idea? I’ve got Helaena’s ex chatting her up, and me, well, I’m left with the delightful mental image of Aegon’s magnificent cock. Just brilliant. What’s next? Is the bloody Kraken going to pop out of the toilet?”

Taking one last drag of her cigarette, she flicked it into the dragon-shaped ashtray with a flourish. “Right, Y/N. Time to pull yourself together, go back out there, and pretend you didn’t just have the most insane moment of your life. Maybe I’ll even find Helaena and we can laugh about this... in about ten years.”

With that, she took a deep breath, splashed her face one last time for good measure, and steeled herself.

It seemed the gods were laughing at her existence because Aegon is leaning casually against the wall outside, a cigarette dangling from his lips and that infuriating smirk plastered on his face.

“Why’d you leave, love? I was about to ask you to join,” he said cheekily.

“Fuck off, Aegon,” she muttered quietly, trying to sidestep him and avoid further embarrassment.

But Aegon moved to block her only path back to the main area. He stood there effectively cornering her.

“Come on, don't be like that,” Aegon teased, leaning closer. “It was just a bit of fun.”

Y/N glared at him, her nerves fraying even more. “Your idea of fun is a bloody nightmare for everyone else.”

Aegon chuckled, clearly enjoying her discomfort. “Oh, you wound me, beautiful. Can’t a man enjoy a bit of company in peace?”

Y/N sighed, looking at him with exasperation. “Look, I didn’t mean to walk in on you. It was pure accident.”

Aegon shrugged it off nonchalantly. “No need for apologies. But did you at least enjoy the show?”

Y/N’s cheeks reddened, her breaths coming raggedly. “I’ve seen better,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant but failing miserably.

Aegon looked at her, unimpressed, clearly not believing her. He took the cigarette from his lips and held it to her mouth so she could take a drag. She hesitated but then took a deep pull, the smoke burning her throat, but the distraction was welcome.

“So, where’s Helaena?” he asked, taking the cigarette back.

“She was whisked away by Oscar and hasn’t been seen since,” Y/N explained, still trying to compose herself.

Aegon raised an eyebrow. “Oscar, huh? Well, that explains a lot. Guess it’s just you and me then.”

Y/N sighed, feeling the massive amount of alcohol she had consumed catching up to her. Her head was starting to pound. “Can I have some water?” she asked, her voice a bit shaky.

Aegon’s smirk softened slightly, and he nodded. “Of course, love.” He placed his hand on her lower back, guiding her gently toward his private office.

The office was a stark contrast to the chaos outside, a sanctuary of dark leather and polished wood. Aegon motioned for her to sit on a leather sofa as he poured a glass of water from a crystal decanter.

“Here you go,” he said, handing her the glass. “Drink up.”

Y/N took the glass gratefully, drinking deeply, the cool water soothing her parched throat and clearing her head slightly. She glanced around the office, noting the various dragon-themed decorations.

“Thanks,” she said, setting the empty glass down on a nearby table.

Aegon leaned against his desk, watching her with amusement and. “Feeling better?”

“A bit,” she admitted, rubbing her temples. “This night has been... a lot.”

Aegon chuckled. “Welcome to The Draconic. It’s never boring, that’s for sure.”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh, despite everything. “You can say that again.”

Aegon’s grin widened. “Believe it or not, this is one of the tamer nights.”

Trying to be smooth, Y/N asked, “So, where’s your… friend or companion or whatever?”

Aegon shrugged nonchalantly. “Don’t know, don’t care,” he said, his grin turning slightly wicked.

Y/N bit her lip, trying hard to hide the growing wetness between her thighs as she watched him. There was something undeniably magnetic about Aegon, and despite her better judgment, she couldn’t help but feel drawn to him.

“Must be nice, having that kind of freedom,” she said, her voice a bit huskier than intended.

Aegon’s eyes darkened slightly, his gaze locking onto hers. “It has its perks,” he replied, his voice low.

Y/N felt her pulse quicken, the tension between them thickening. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. “Well, thanks for the water. I should probably get back to Helaena.”

Aegon pushed himself off the desk and stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. “Sure you don’t want to stick around a bit longer? I can be very entertaining.” he said, his voice dripping with suggestion. “Besides, Helaena is probably also occupied.”

He began to circle around her like a serpent, his eyes never leaving hers. Y/N shivered, feeling the intensity of his gaze and the heat of his proximity. The room seemed to close in around them.

Y/N breathed out quietly, her voice shaking. “I’m Helaena’s friend,” she said, more to convince herself than anyone else. “I shouldn’t be doing anything with her brother.”

Aegon put a hand under her chin, his finger tracing her lips as he whispered, “She doesn’t have to know.”

Y/N moved forward, their lips now almost touching. She could feel his breath, warm and intoxicating, mingling with hers. Her fingers found their way to the nape of his neck, playing with the ends of his hair, feeling the softness against her skin.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” she murmured, her voice barely audible, the words more for her own reassurance.

“As you say, love,” Aegon whispered back, his voice a seductive purr.

In an instant, they clashed into each other, their lips meeting in a rough, demanding kiss that felt like they were devouring each other. The world outside faded away, leaving just the two of them suspended in a moment of dangerous excitement. Their hands moved frantically, tugging at each other’s clothes with a desperate urgency. Y/N felt Aegon’s hands at her back, unzipping her dress, while she fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, their mouths never breaking contact.

“Oh, God, Aegon,” she gasped between kisses, feeling his hands on her skin, the heat of his touch igniting something deep within her.

“Y/N,” he growled, his voice thick with desire.

The kiss deepened, becoming almost primal, as if they were trying to consume each other completely. Y/N’s dress fell to the floor, and she felt the cool air against her skin, contrasting sharply with the heat radiating between them. Aegon’s shirt joined her dress on the ground, followed by his belt and trousers. Her hands roamed over his bare chest, feeling the hard muscles beneath, as his fingers traced the curves of her body.

“Fuck,” Aegon muttered, his lips trailing down her neck, “you’re fit.”

Y/N gasped as his mouth moved lower, his hands gripping her hips with a possessive hunger. He kissed a path down her body, his breath hot against her skin. She shivered, feeling the intense pull of desire.

“Stop,” she managed to say, though her protest was weak. “You’re leaving marks.”

“Good,” Aegon murmured, his voice filled with satisfaction. “I want everyone to know you’re mine tonight.”

Y/N shuddered as his mouth found her clit, his tongue teasing and sucking with expert precision. Her hands tangled in his hair, torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer. Aegon was relentless, his hunger evident in every movement.

“You arrogant bastard,” she gasped, her body betraying her as pleasure surged through her.

Aegon chuckled, the sound vibrating against her most sensitive spot. “So wet, darling, all for me, huh?” he taunted, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction.

His fingers joined the assault, thrusting inside her with a rhythm that had her seeing stars. Aegon was a god at this, his fingers curling just right while his tongue continued its relentless teasing. Y/N’s mewls turned into desperate cries, her body trembling under his assault.

“Mmm, you like that, don’t you?” he murmured against her clit, his tone a mix of degradation and praise. “Such a good girl, taking everything I give you.”

Her body arched, her hips moving instinctively to meet his fingers, the intensity of his touch driving her wild. “Aegon, please,” she whimpered, her voice barely a whisper.

“Begging already?” he smirked, increasing the pressure of his fingers. “Look at you, falling apart just for me.”

Y/N’s vision blurred, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. She was so close, the sensations overwhelming her. His mouth never let up, his tongue a constant source of exquisite torture.

“Come on, love,” he urged, his voice husky with desire. “Let go for me.”

With a final, intense suck and a twist of his fingers, Y/N’s world shattered. Her orgasm hit her like a tidal wave, her body convulsing as she squirted hard, her juices soaking Aegon’s hand and mouth.

“Shit, love,” Aegon groaned, his eyes dark with lust as he watched her. “That’s fucking hot.”

He didn’t stop, drawing out her orgasm with gentle licks and caresses. Y/N’s body trembled, her mind barely able to process the overwhelming pleasure.

As the waves of her climax slowly subsided, she collapsed back, breathless and spent. Aegon moved up, his lips brushing against hers in a possessive kiss.

“I could watch you come like that all night.”

Y/N could only nod weakly, her body still trembling, as she tried to catch her breath.

Aegon began pumping his cock, his hand moving in smooth, practiced strokes. Pre-cum was already leaking from the tip, his veins throbbing with need. He sat down and guided her to straddle him. As she settled on top of him, Y/N noticed a strategically placed mirror, reflecting their entwined bodies clearly.

Aegon’s eyes darkened with a primal hunger. “Ride me, love,” he commanded, his voice low and rough.

Y/N positioned herself over him, her hands on his shoulders for balance, and slowly lowered herself onto his throbbing cock. The sensation was intense, both of them groaning as he filled her completely. She began to move, bouncing expertly, the squelching sounds echoing in the room.

“Fuck, you ride like a slut,” Aegon taunted, his hands gripping her hips hard enough to leave marks. “So wet and desperate for me.”

Her eyes caught the mirror again, watching as she rode him with wild abandon. The sight was incredibly arousing. Aegon’s fingers wrapped around her throat, applying just enough pressure to make her gasp.

“You like that, don’t you?” he taunted, his grip tightening slightly. “You like being fucked like this.”

Y/N’s moans were half-choked, her eyes rolling back as the pressure on her throat intensified the pleasure. “Yes,” she gasped out, her voice strained. “I love it.”

Aegon’s eyes were locked on where their bodies met, watching as her cream formed a white ring at the base of his cock. “Look at that,” he said as he tuts at her. “You’re making such a mess, love.”

Y/N’s body responded to his words, her movements becoming more frantic. She was riding him hard, her nails digging into his backs, leaving marks of her own.

Aegon groaned, his grip tightening as he felt her walls clench around him. “That’s it, love,” he murmured, his voice thick with pleasure. “Just like that.”

“Aegon, I’m so close,” she moaned, her body trembling with the impending climax.

“Come for me, Y/N,” he commanded, his voice full of raw desire. “I want to feel you.”

With a final, desperate bounce, Y/N’s body convulsed, her orgasm ripping through her with such force that she squirted again, much to Aegon’s delight. He watched with a mixture of pride and lust as she trembled above him. His own release followed closely, exploding inside her and painting her insides with his cum.

The room reeked of sex, the intense scent of their passion filling the air. Aegon held her close, their bodies still entwined, his hands moving gently over her back as he rubbed her hair, soothing the aftermath. They stayed like that for a moment, their breaths mingling, gradually slowing down.

Y/N’s pussy was overstimulated, every slight movement sending tremors through her body. She trembled uncontrollably, her muscles twitching with the aftershocks of their intense lovemaking.

Aegon held her close, his voice a soothing whisper in her ear. “You did so well for me, darling,” he murmured, his tone filled with both admiration and tenderness.

He shifted slightly, still inside her, causing her to gasp as another wave of sensation coursed through her. “Fuck, love,” he continued, his breath hot against her ear. “How am I supposed to not crave your cunt after this?”

Y/N could only manage a weak smile, her body still recovering from the overwhelming pleasure. She leaned into his touch, finding comfort in his arms.

Aegon’s fingers continued to trace soothing patterns on her skin, his breath warm against her ear. “You’re amazing,” he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple. “Absolutely fucking amazing.”

They shared a tender kiss, a huge contrast to what had just transpired. Aegon’s lips were soft and gentle, offering a moment of intimacy that grounded them both.

“I’ll be right back,” he whispered, standing up carefully. He retrieved a warm, clean towel and returned to her side, gently cleaning the insides of her thighs. Y/N watched him fondly, her heart warming at the unexpected tenderness.

“What a gentleman,” she teased, her voice light with amusement.

Aegon winked at her. “Don’t tell anyone.”

After cleaning her up, he poured her a glass of cold water. “Drink up,” he said, handing it to her. “You need to stay hydrated.”

Y/N took the glass, sipping gratefully, still watching him with a smile. He then grabbed a spare shirt from a nearby drawer and slipped it over her head, his fingers lingering as he admired how it looked on her. The shirt was oversized, hanging loosely on her frame, but Aegon seemed to like it that way.

“Acting like a doting boyfriend now, are we?” Y/N teased, raising an eyebrow at him.

Aegon smirked, adjusting the shirt on her shoulders. “I knew this shirt would look fantastic on you, and I was right.”

“Oh? Well, in that case, I might as well keep it then.”

Aegon chuckled. “You’ll have to earn it, love.”

She grinned, leaning in to give him a quick peck on the lips. “Consider it a down payment.”

Aegon laughed, pulling her closer. “You drive a hard bargain.”

Y/N laughed along with him, feeling a warmth spread through her that had nothing to do with the afterglow of their encounter. “I’ll take my chances.”

Aegon grinned, leaning in to kiss her again. “You’re trouble, you know that?”

Y/N kissed him deeply, their lips melding with a renewed passion. His hands found their way to her arse, gripping it firmly as he pulled her closer.

But then the door flew open, and Helaena stood in the doorway, her eyes wide with shock. “Oh great, I’m forever traumatized,” she exclaimed, a scandalized gasp escaping her lips.

The evidence of their encounter was plain as day. The whole room reeked of sex, and there were suspicious liquid remains on the floor.

“Really? In my brother’s office?” Helaena berated, her hands on her hips.

Y/N’s face turned crimson, and she tried to hide her face in Aegon’s shoulder, mortified. Aegon, however, was laughing shamelessly.

“Oh, come on, Hel,” Aegon said. “Don’t be so dramatic.”

Helaena’s eyes narrowed as she glared at both of them. “Dramatic? The room smells like a brothel, and I just walked in on my brother groping my best friend!”

“You do have impeccable timing,” Aegon managed to say between laughs.

Y/N peeked out from behind Aegon, still embarrassed. “I… I can explain?”

Helaena rolled her eyes dramatically. “Oh, please don’t. I think the evidence speaks for itself.”

Aegon grinned, pulling Y/N closer. “Come on, Hel. You know you love us.”

Helaena shook her head, unable to suppress a smile despite her mock indignation. “You two are disgusting. Just… clean up after yourselves, will you?”

Y/N nodded vigorously, still trying to hide her face. “We will, promise.”

As Helaena left, muttering about needing eye bleach, Aegon and Y/N burst into laughter. Y/N shook her head, a smile tugging at her lips. “I guess I’m keeping this shirt after all.”

“Damn right you are,” Aegon said with a smile. He paused, looking at her thoughtfully. “So, when are you free?”

Y/N blinked, confused. “Free for what?”

Aegon rolled his eyes playfully. “I’m taking you out on a date, woman.”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head in disbelief. “A date? After all this?”

Aegon grinned, leaning in to kiss her forehead. “Course, You’ve already seen the worst of me. Now please let me try to impress you properly.”

Y/N pretended to ponder this, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “Hmm, let me think about it. I mean, you did just make a mess of the place, and you have a habit of getting caught in compromising positions...”

Aegon chuckled, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her close. “Oh, come on. You know you want to. Besides, how many people can say they had their first date after walking in on said person mid-blowjob?”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Alright, you’ve got a point there.”

She gave him a mock-serious look. “Okay, 5 PM next Friday, Targaryen. Don’t be late.”

Aegon pumps his fist in celebration. “I’ll be there on the dot, love. You just wait.”

“You know,” she said, looking up at him, “this has to be the strangest way I’ve ever agreed to a date.”

Aegon grinned. “Well, I’m nothing if not memorable.”

Y/N smiled, feeling a warmth spread through her. “That you are.”

She took a deep breath and reluctantly stepped back from him. “I should go find Helaena and do some damage control before she decides to disown both of us.”

Aegon laughed, nodding. “Good idea. She’ll get over it… eventually.”

“Don’t be late,” she said with a playful smirk.

Aegon raised his hands in mock surrender. “I wouldn’t dare.”

With one last smile, Y/N turned and headed for the door.

[novaursa]

hi ! can you do a writing for sister reader and rhaenyra and daemon. viserys like names them both heir (which otto is tryna like stop him or change his mind) but viserys is hell bent on having his two daughters on the iron throne , with them getting married and like adding daemon to the equation because while both reader and rhaenyra loves each other they also love daemon. and like during the dinner at the red keep alicent voices her opinion which has viserys FINALLY realizing what the hightowers are trying to do and he stands behind his daughters ten toes down and he makes sure they are on the throne before he dies. happy ending for everyone please (even the little hightower children aka aegon and aemond and helaena especially helaena that’s my baby) 😚

Three Heads

Requests are closed!

- Summary: Your father names you and Rhaenyra his heirs, and you both take Daemon as your husband.

- Paring: Rhaenyra Targaryen/targ!reader/Daemon Targaryen

- Note: The ending is left unsaid for narration purposes. You can assume how the Dance never happened.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Next part: nights

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The air was filled with anticipation as the three of you stood at the precipice of something ancient, something forbidden to those bound by the narrow constraints of Westerosi law. But you were not only Westerosi. You were Targaryens. Blood of Old Valyria, blood of the dragon. The moon cast a silvery light over Dragonstone, reflecting off the stone-carved faces of the ancestral dragonlords, their eyes seeming to watch as if blessing the union about to take place.

"The dragon has three heads," your father, King Viserys, had declared before the lords of his court, his voice unwavering against the protests of Otto Hightower and the murmurs of the others. He had been insistent, unyielding in his decision to name not only Rhaenyra but you, his beloved twin daughters, as heirs to the Iron Throne. And if you wished to marry Daemon, then so be it. Otto’s warnings had fallen on deaf ears, his opposition met with your father’s conviction.

You glance at Rhaenyra, standing to your right, her silver-gold hair catching the wind like a banner of fire. Her violet eyes meet yours, and for a moment, it’s only the two of you—the twin flames that have burned side by side your entire lives. There is something unspoken in her gaze, a shared understanding, a bond far deeper than blood. Tonight, that bond will be sealed in ways that no lord of Westeros could comprehend.

Daemon stands between you both, his presence commanding as ever. He is your uncle, yes, but he is also your lover, your equal in the dance of dragons. His eyes, sharp and bright, shift between you and Rhaenyra, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He thrives in defiance, in the breaking of traditions. But tonight is not about breaking. Tonight is about honoring something older, something lost.

The ritual begins as the dragonfire is lit around you, the flames crackling with the same intensity that fills the air. The old tongues of Valyria, forgotten by most, are spoken by the priests who have come to witness this union. Their words echo through the chamber like the roar of dragons. Your heart pounds in your chest, the ancient magic of your ancestors awakening in your blood.

Daemon steps forward first, his hand outstretched toward you, and then toward Rhaenyra. His touch is warm, familiar, as he brings both of you closer to him. “You are mine,” he says softly, his voice filled with a possessive reverence that sends a shiver down your spine. “Both of you.”

“And you are ours,” Rhaenyra responds, her voice strong and clear, echoing your own thoughts.

The Valyrian steel rings, forged specially for this moment, are brought forth. Daemon takes one in his hand, sliding it onto Rhaenyra’s finger first, then yours. As the cool metal touches your skin, you feel the weight of it, not just the physical weight but the weight of history, of legacy. The three of you are bound now—not only by blood, not only by love, but by destiny.

You take the second ring, your fingers trembling slightly as you slide it onto Daemon’s hand, followed by Rhaenyra’s. She smiles at you, a smile full of mischief and affection. She has always been the fiery one, the rebellious princess who defies convention, but so have you. You are her mirror in many ways, the reflection of her ambition, her desire, her strength.

The final words of the ritual are spoken in the language of dragons, the ancient Valyrian wrapping around the three of you like a cloak. Fire, blood, and power. The three pillars of your house, and now the pillars of this union. You are no longer two sisters and their uncle. You are one. One flame, one force, one future.

The kiss that follows is not timid. Daemon pulls you both close, his lips claiming yours first, then Rhaenyra’s. It is not the kiss of a husband and wife under the eyes of the Seven, but the kiss of dragons. Fierce, passionate, untamed. Rhaenyra leans into you, her fingers brushing your cheek before she too claims your lips. The world around you fades, leaving only the three of you, bound in fire and blood.

As the flames around you burn higher, you can feel the weight of what this means. You are no longer just heirs to the Iron Throne. You are the future of House Targaryen, the embodiment of its ancient power. The dragon has three heads, and now, you will soar together, unbreakable.

Otto’s warnings echo in your mind, but they are drowned out by the roar of dragons in your heart. Let the realm whisper. Let them plot and scheme. You are Targaryens, bound by the old ways. And together, you will reshape the world as you see fit.

The atmosphere in the Red Keep’s great hall was stifling, despite the lavish feast laid out before you. The long table gleamed under the glow of countless candles, the scent of roasted meats and spiced wine filling the air. Yet, there was no warmth in the room. Not tonight. The gathering was small but potent—Viserys, seated at the head of the table, you and Rhaenyra on either side of Daemon, with Alicent and her children opposite you. Otto Hightower sat quietly near the Queen, his calculating gaze shifting between you and your twin.

You could feel the weight of the words unsaid, the barely concealed discomfort radiating from Alicent, her hands clenched into tight fists in her lap. It was only a matter of time before something was spoken aloud, and you sensed the moment approaching.

Aegon lounged lazily beside his mother, a smirk playing on his lips, while Aemond's single eye, as sharp as a blade, flickered between Daemon and Rhaenyra with barely veiled contempt. Helaena, ever quiet and strange, sat silently, fiddling with a small trinket in her hands, muttering something under her breath.

The tension finally snapped when Alicent placed her cup down with a little more force than necessary, drawing all eyes to her. She smiled tightly, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

"Your Grace," she began, her voice honeyed but brittle. "I wonder… have you truly considered the implications of such a union? Between Daemon and your daughters?"

You stiffen beside Daemon, feeling Rhaenyra tense on his other side. Alicent's words hang in the air, dripping with disapproval, though she masks it with concern. She turns her gaze to Viserys, her eyes wide, playing the role of the dutiful wife. "Surely, there are other considerations that must be taken into account. For the sake of the realm, and for the future stability of the crown."

Viserys’s eyes narrow, his fork pausing mid-air as he studies her. “What are you trying to say, Alicent?”

Alicent’s gaze flickers briefly toward Otto before she continues, emboldened. “There are traditions, Your Grace. Laws that must be upheld. Marrying Daemon to both of your daughters… it is… unorthodox.” She hesitates, her words cautious. “It could create discord within the realm. People might question the legitimacy of such a union, especially with the potential claims from…” Her voice lowers, though not enough to be polite, “…Daemon’s past.”

At that, Daemon leans back in his chair, a lazy, dangerous smile spreading across his face. He says nothing, simply watching as Alicent's discomfort grows under his scrutiny.

You exchange a glance with Rhaenyra, and she meets your eyes with a flash of defiance. You knew this moment would come. The Hightowers have been quiet for too long, waiting for a chance to undermine your father’s wishes, to place their own blood closer to the Iron Throne. And here it was, unfolding before you like a play.

Viserys’s face darkens, his eyes shifting from Alicent to Otto. “Is that what you’re concerned about, Alicent? Tradition? Or are you worried about what this union means for your children?”

There’s a sharp intake of breath from Alicent, but it is Otto who speaks next, his voice measured and calm. “Your Grace, no one questions your love for your daughters, nor the bond they share with Prince Daemon. But the realm is fragile. Marriages such as these, unconventional as they may be, can sow uncertainty. It may lead to factions… rebellion.”

Viserys sets his goblet down with a resounding thud, his eyes flashing with something you haven't seen in years—a simmering anger, a reawakening of the dragon within him.

“Rebellion? Uncertainty?” he repeats, his voice low but dangerous. “My daughters are Targaryens. They carry the blood of Old Valyria. The laws of Westeros are not the only ones that govern our family. I named both of them my heirs because I have faith in their ability to rule, just as I have faith in Daemon, my brother. This union strengthens our house, not weakens it.”

Alicent pales, her grip tightening on her goblet. “Your Grace, I only meant to say—”

“Enough!” Viserys cuts her off, rising from his seat with surprising vigor. “I have been patient, too patient, with the whispers and scheming around me. You question this marriage because it does not suit the plans of your house. But I will not allow the Hightowers to dictate the future of my daughters, or the future of this realm.”

There’s a stunned silence as his words settle over the room, the full weight of his wrath directed at Alicent and Otto. Aegon’s smirk fades, and Aemond’s eye narrows in suspicion. Helaena remains quiet, her focus still on her trinket, as if the conflict around her is distant, unimportant.

You glance at Daemon, who watches with a gleam of amusement in his eyes, his lips curved in a small, satisfied smile. This is the moment he has been waiting for, the moment when Viserys finally sees the Hightowers for what they are—a threat to his daughters’ legacy.

“I will make myself clear,” Viserys continues, his voice steady and unwavering. “Rhaenyra and Y/N are my chosen heirs. They will rule when I am gone, and Daemon will stand beside them as their husband, as their equal. This is my will, and it will be law. There will be no more discussion, no more questioning their claim.”

Otto shifts uncomfortably in his seat, his face impassive but his eyes sharp, calculating. Alicent looks stricken, her gaze dropping to her lap, no longer able to meet Viserys’s eyes.

The tension breaks when Viserys sits back down, his breath labored but his resolve unshaken. “I expect you all to remember that.”

The rest of the dinner passes in a tense silence, but the message is clear. The Hightowers’ influence is waning, and Viserys will ensure that the Targaryen line remains strong and unchallenged. You share a quiet look with Rhaenyra, feeling the weight of your father’s words settle in your chest. You are no longer simply his daughters. You are his heirs, and the Iron Throne will be yours.

Daemon raises his goblet, a wicked smile playing on his lips as he leans in, his voice low but filled with triumph. “The dragon has three heads, indeed.”

[youraverageaemondsimp]

“You belong to me and me only.” // Aemond Targaryen x Aunt!Hightower!Reader

MDNI

WARNINGS: dubcon, p in v sex, canon typical incest, breeding kink, noncon voyeurism, jealous!aemond, kinda toxic, tiddy sucking, degradation, humiliation, dacryphilia(?), rough sex, choking, reader's age is left up to interpretation. + not proofread // based on this request.

WC: 2k

You were reading a book in allotted chambers when you felt the noise of a stone slide, you sighed already knowing who it was before you got up and turned to face the intruder, arms crossed. Aemond was in your room before he came close to you and embraced you, “Aunt.” he whispers, nose buried at the top of your head before he takes in the scent of you, hair smelling like roses.

You push him away and put your book down on the table before putting some distance between you and Aemond, “You should leave.” you say and he furrowed his eyebrows, “What the fuck do you mean by that?” he grits his teeth and you sigh. “Aemond, I am to be married soon, I cannot continue this….whatever this is, with you.” you speak, “But I love you.” he replies.

“I know, and I love you too, but my sister has declined our betrothal.” you try to speak some sense into him.

“I do not give a shit about my mother's opinion on this matter, I want you. I want to have you, your body and soul.” Aemond says and you feel butterflies erupt in your stomach at that but you quickly push them away before you shake your head.

“It is useless.” you reply.

“I would rather burn this keep to the ground with vhagar than watch you marry someone that isn't me, aunt.” he grits his teeth as he proclaims angrily.

“My dear, I know it is upsetting, but we cannot do anything about this-” you try convincing him but he lets out a sound similar to a growl before storming off.

Just then a guard informs you of the dinner you were supposed to have with all of the family, yes that included Rhaenyra and her family.

Your maids quickly get you ready for the dinner, donning you in a beautiful green down, with a squared neck cut and slightly puffed sleeves, gold lacing incriminated into the cloth, not extravagant, simple enough dress which was suitable for dinner.

You wore your hair loose, except the two strands that were braided and put together at the back of your head, and then you wore your most valuable gift of all, a valyrian steel necklace, thin braided, with a sapphire drooping down the middle, small and heart shaped.

It was a gift from Aemond, it's not he hadn't gifted you other things, it's just that this necklace was something that you liked the most and the one which held meaning to you, after all it was the necklace you had received after Aemond had confessed his feelings for you.

And just like that, you were ready for dinner.

You sat down on your chair and watched as Aemond talked to Aegon, Aemond had switched places and sat right next to you, which earned a look from Alicent who Aemond paid no mind to.

Dinner was going well, everyone seemed to be getting along, Luke and Jace were on their best behaviour today, it seems their mother had finally reprimanded them.

That was what you thought until you caught Daemon Targaryen staring at you, at first you thought it was a mistake, but he for sure was staring at you, or rather at your cleavage.

You watched as he took a sip of his wine, eyes flickering down to your breasts before up to your face, he gave you a small smirk before drinking.

You noticed how visibly uncomfortable Rhaenyra was and you felt so bad for her, you shrugged off and pretended nothing ever happened, until you heard your sister bring up the topic of Aemond's betrothal.

What shocked you most was that she had said that Aemond was the one who proposed it.

A marriage alliance to the Baratheon House.

Floris Baratheon.

You clenched your jaw in jealousy and anger, you knew you were both meant to part ways, in fact you were the one who bought it up in the first place anyways but that didn't matter, you were angry, at both him and yourself for feeling like this.

You simply gave him a glare from your side, before turning your attention to the man who was sitting across, he still shamelessly checked you out. And then you got an idea.

You leaned in front of the table, pretending as though you were fetching something, causing the flesh of your breasts to almost spill out, giving Daemon the time of the day, his face flickered over to your face and you gave him an innocent smile before sitting back, nobody seemed to have noticed except for Aemond at what you had done.

Then you felt something trail up the front of your leg and you looked at Daemon who now had a relaxed expression as his boot made its way upwards your skirts, trailing a path, and you pulled your legs back, and shot him a smirk, basically inviting him in.

Aemond had begun to notice all this, the way when your hands would linger longer whenever you would pass something to his uncle, the way he stared at your chest, it made him mad.

He proposed this marriage so that you would break and create a scene and get you and him married. But this isn't what he had expected.

He finally snapped when he heard your sweet laugh, which was drawn by daemon's joke, he slammed his fists on the table and before anyone can process it he's pushing the food off and slams you by your head on the table kicking your chair off forcing your legs straight. You were extremely taken aback by this.

“Since you want to parade yourself like a whore, I will treat you like one.” he growls before he hikes your skirts up and you panic, struggling and Alicent looks at this in horror, everyone looks as if they're scared.

“Aemond! Stop this right now!” Alicent tries to come over to help you but he shoots her a look and she backs down, scared that her son might hurt her as well.

He quickly undoes his breeches, he didn't care if everyone was watching him, that's exactly what he wanted, he slipped into your folds with such brutality that made you moan loudly and claw at the table, you tried fighting him off but he held your hands together at your back and let go of your neck, spanking your ass.

“Look at this, already so fucking wet.” he collects the wetness yout produced and smears it across your skin, and just then you were able to feel how wet you were.

“Fucking whore.” he says as he starts snapping his hips at a brutal pace causing you to moan, it was so humiliating, to have everyone watch you while he fucks you, they're too scared to interefere, Alicent closes her eyes at this act of depravity being displayed, and everyone seems to be looking anywhere but whatever was being displayed, and Aemond was visibly annoyed, he wanted everyone to look, to see how much of a whore you were, he wanted to humiliate you.

“Look at this uncle, wasn't this bitch just flirting with you moments ago? Watch how she is moaning underneath me now.” he grunts, thrusting, making your body jolt up the table, and Daemon stares at you, unashamed.

You burst into tears, feeling insulted and humiliated, “Dear aunt, are you crying right now? Don't, you were the one who wanted to act like a whore from the silk streets.” he coos mockingly and you sniff, his thrusts become sloppy before he pushes him to the hilt and finishes inside you, before pulling out and wearing his breeches, before smoothly walking his way out, leaving you unsatisfied and on the table, a mess.

Alicent comes towards you and pulls your skirts down, she seems to be at the verge of crying as well, fixing you up and giving you a hug and you just looked at everything in a daze, mad and humiliated.

But most of all unsatisfied.

Aemond didn't let you finish, but sought out his own pleasure like a cunt.

That's what made you mad.

“Let's pretend nothing happened here, and Aemond.. That mangrown… ” Alicent sighs and everyone nods, looking at you in pity and you just feel tears streaming down your face, and your sister wipes them away.

You left the scene, going back to your chambers, and the sight in front of you made you mad.

Aemond was in your chambers.

“What the fuck are you doing here, get out.” You say sternly and he turns to look at you, you close the door behind you before lunging at him, and he seems taken aback by this but he dodges, and grabs you by your neck before applying pressure, causing you to see stars as the oxygen was so slowly deprived from you.

He pushes you onto the bed, hand leaving your neck as he rips your gown apart, the material tearing, causing your breasts to spill out, he grips them tightly, nails biting into your skin causing sparks of pain, you gripped his hands trying to pull them off but he only held on tighter, “He was staring at these,” he growls, “But he doesn't know that they belong to me.” he takes your breast in his mouth, tongue circling around your nipple, causing you whine before he bites down harshly, making you arch your back and grip his hair.

He pulls away and trails kisses down your body, stopping at your cunt, he pulls your legs apart, revealing your folds to him, he moans at the sight, his previously stuff spend leaking outside, and coating your thighs, he licks at of it up before his lips descend onto your pearl, he sucks on it, tongue flicking up and down your bud, you throw your hand back and moan, hands coming up to grip his hair as you rut against his face, he moans into your cunt, relishing in the combined taste of you and him, he pushes his finger inside your hole as he kisses your bud, thrusting in and out, fingers curling upwards to hit your spot.

And soon, you come all over his hands and he moans at the way your cunt clenches around his digits, “Fuck- need to be inside you once again.” he pulls his fingers out and replaces it with his cock, pushing past your folds and sitting all snuggly inside.

He leans down to kiss your neck, biting at it to leave marks, he fucks you at a brutal pace, making your body jolt, and the bed creak against the floor.

He pulls away from your neck to watch your fucked out expression, drool dripping from the side of your mouth, which he leans in and licks it up before kissing you, your moans are muffled by it.

He felt himself near once again, “I can't wait to fill you up, maybe at the earlier display, and my son growing in your womb, she might wed us.” he tells you his plan easily and you nod.

“You'd be so pretty, all full and round of my child, trying to waddle around, trying to keep up with my pace— ah! fuck!” he moans as he spills himself inside you, all the thoughts only spurring him on further.

And you feel your band snap at the same time, cumming along with him, moaning extremely loudly, chanting his name like a prayer.

He pulls out and watches his cum drip out of you, he scoops it up and shoves it back inside, and you wince from the overstimulation.

“You belong to me, and me only, do you understand?” he growls and you nod.

“I want to hear it.”

“Yes, Aemond, I understand.” you say.

And soon, Alicent weds you both, the entire family was quiet during the celebration, knowing the reason why, yet they all congratulated you.

Aemond finally got what he wanted at the end.

———

GENERAL TAGLIST ;

@watercolorskyy @cl-0-vr @chompchompluke @namelesslosers @snowystark @spookyaemond @sweethoneyblossom1 @this-isnt-madness @persephonerinyes @eltherevir @sidni3003 @aleidag1rly @cryingforlife @fan-goddess @hannaeditzs @grungegrrrl @thekinslayersswordhand @aemondsbabygirl

[gerec]

best long fics? i've only been reading oneshots lately. i like cherik which can be a book too.

To make this list even a tiny bit manageable I'm choosing to define 'long' as over 100k. There are a lot of superb fics on this list, Anon; happy reading!

Nine Eleven Ten by Subtilior (WIP - the definition of a fandom classic with fantastic worldbuilding)

Years later, Charles would remember that day. Sometimes he would wonder if he could have changed anything; other times he would despair over what he had since become. But he would always hold the image in his mind: Raven, laughing, and his thoughts flying alongside her on strong wings, silver-gold through the winter air. Once upon a time.

The stars incline us, they do not bind us by ikeracity, Pangea

Intergalactic Federation pilot Lieutenant Charles Xavier is assigned last-minute to a high profile mission: transporting over two thousand prison inmates from an old and overfilled prison complex to a newer, higher-capacity prison stronghold located on the outer reaches of the galaxy. Just as he's settling down for a long and uneventful ride, things take a turn for the worse after the inmates riot and stage a hostile takeover of the ship, leaving Charles to find himself at the complete mercy of cold-blooded killers and facing the chilling prospect that he might not ever make it back home alive.

A Curious Carriage of Crystal and Cold by Etharei

Charles, a miner from a poor village in the countryside, saves the life of Erik Lehnsherr, scion of a successful business family and the richest man on the planet Eisen. Charles is a telepath and somewhat anxious about it, while Erik abstains from relationships because the lights flicker and doors open and electronics vibrate when he gets too excited.

Also featuring a long-suffering sister, a foul-mouthed bodyguard, and a best friend with a heart that is definitely not gold.

In which there are princes, spaceships, long journeys, and old secrets uncovered. (An AU sci-fi fairytale)

Tessellation by nekosmuse

He had been following Xavier's career for years. He had read and reread and reread again everything the man had written. He had tried, on more occasions than he could count, to recruit Xavier into the Brotherhood, but each request for a meeting had been denied. Aside from his work, no one knew anything about Xavier. Not what he looked like, not the full extent of his power--though from what little they did know, he was by far the most powerful telepath in existence--and not what his intentions were.

The man was a recluse. As far as Magneto knew, Xavier had never once stepped foot outside his impenetrable Westchester manor. And now he was scheduled as the keynote speaker for the largest pro-mutant conference in the world.

The Marriage Bargain by kianspo

Erik Lehnsherr had made a fortune manufacturing steel in Europe. When he wished to expand to the New World, he discovered that no one would do business with him unless he was affiliated with one of the First Families, the creme de la creme of the NW aristocracy. When Lord Marko holds an auction to give away his 14-year-old stepson's hand in marriage, Erik sees his chance and takes it. He has no interest in Charles himself, but now that he has him, can they make it work?

Everyday Love in Stockholm by tahariel

Prompt: Magneto is the ruler of the posthuman world.

His only secret? Charles Xavier, the human he's kept locked in his bedroom ever since his right-hand woman, Mystique, came to him pleading for mercy for her stepbrother, who accepted her mutant form and protected her as a child. The human he started fucking after Mystique was killed in battle, despite the guilt he feels at contaminating even this last promise to the woman who was integral to his life's work and happiness.

The Proper Care of Actors by afrocurl, Clear_Liqueur, Clocks, Etharei (series)

Erik is an A-list action star who is notoriously difficult to work with, until the day he gets cast alongside Charles Xavier, rom-com darling who can charm the pants off movie audiences the world over and apparently even one Erik Lehnsherr. The paparazzi catch them out and about soon enough, and their real-life Hollywood movie romance becomes instant tabloid fodder.

The Associates by ikeracity, Pangea (series)

Being a mob boss' associate has its ups and downs. Having sex in the back of a limo on Valentine's Day is definitely one of the ups.

The Sonnet Series by afrocurl, nekosmuse (series)

Erik Lehnsherr is a visiting professor at Columbia University, as well as an acclaimed and award winning poet. Charles Xavier is a lead researcher with the Genetics Department who is well on his way to tenure. But what happens when Charles has to cancel a class because half his students abandon him in favour of a mysterious new English Lit professor? Naturally he ends up sitting in in the class, where Professor Lehnsherr mistakes him for a student. It's really too bad Erik has such a strict policy against dating students. It's also too bad Erik doesn't seem to know how to use Google.

Space Oddity by MonstrousRegiment, Pangea (series)

Prince Charles Xavier is Deputy Commander of the TEF Heartsteel and the newest mission they've been assigned starts out less than desirable and quickly goes downhill from there. It's alright, though, he'll cope.

It doesn't help, though, that he's in unrequited love with his best friend and Commander of the Heartsteel, War-Prince Erik Lehnsherr.

Nation Building and other Diplomatic Negotiations by Pookaseraph

With the recent passage of a submissive registration law in the United Kingdom, there are now only two industrialized nation with a relatively stable government to have neither a mutant nor a submissive registration law. Erik Lehnsherr, the newly minted King of Genosha, and his Prime Minister Emma Frost intend to take advantage of this turn of events to bring the Xavier Institute to the island nation of Genosha. They both know bringing Charles Xavier, the noted activist of mutant and submissive rights, to the island will necessarily politicize the man, and create all manner of complications. With a constitution not yet finalized and external threats to Genoshan security all around them, Erik, Emma, and Charles will fight for what they believe in to shape Genosha into what it should be.

Do You Love Me by cgf_kat

Charles and Erik have been married for 25 years, thrown together by a mandatory post-apocalyptic pairing system attempting to increase and strengthen the population. They have seven children. They have never spoken of love, but change is on the horizon.

Ritual Self-Torture by TurtleTotem

For the following prompt: Shaw is King, Charles is his royal consort and Erik is a Knight/Lord. Shaw is sterile but his kingdom can't find out, so he asks Erik to impregnate Charles.

He doesn't know Erik and Charles are in love.

But I Would Walk Five Hundred Miles, And I Would Walk Five Hundred More by luninosity (series)

In which Charles isn't really an escort, Erik thinks he only wants a one-night stand, everybody's got a past, and there's quite a lot of sex on the way to the happy ending.

We Met At The Park by StarRose

AU, no powers, based on McAvoy's performance as Martin in Murder In Mind. Unable to sleep one night Erik takes a midnight walk in the local park. He finds himself being followed and propositioned by a rent boy named Charles, and begins to fall rather rapidly for his charms. Charles however has never known what love is, and doesn't recognise it even when it's staring at him in the face. As for Erik, he doesn't realise a creeping illness is slowly affecting Charles, and his dark past is something he couldn't have imagined.

Strict Machine by euphorbic

When Professor Charles F Xavier accepted a visiting professor position in Arizona, he did so in order to be geographically closer to his sister. What he did not expect to find was the living, breathing specter of the sportbike gang-oriented past he’d been trying to put to rest.

A tale of sport bikes, consequences, and sacrifice.

MAD Dogs by ClarkeStetler, Goosenik (series)

Charles and Erik are (loosely) friends with benefits. They don't share personal details, last names, or anything concrete about their lives. This is ruined rather spectacularly when Charles gets recruited by the Mutant Apprehension Division of the FBI. Surprised is a bit of an understatement for their reaction to finding themselves partnered up and sent out on cases with the team.

Bit of a detective fic? Really just an excuse for us to play around with MAD (Mutant Apprehension Division) that we created in Playing House.

A Doll's House by lachatblanche

Welcome to the Dollhouse, where all your dreams and fantasies come true. At a price. Based on the TV show Dollhouse.

[hamsterclaw]

Black Ice

Bangtan Christmas drabble 7 - read the rest here.

Min Yoongi only cares about three things. The thrill of drifting, his friends, and cars, in that order. Somehow, you've got under his skin. Part of the Drift Kings AU.

Pairing: Yoongi x f! reader

Rating: 18+

Genre: Street racer/mechanic! Yoongi, smut

Word count: 3.2k

Warnings: Sex, swearing

Min Yoongi knows loneliness. He knows the unrelenting ache of it, the way it permeates every aspect of one’s psyche.

He knows what it feels like to look for a connection that isn’t there.

When he was ten his father took him into work for the first time, and it was then, amongst the smells of engine oil and new paint and pinewood air freshener, that Yoongi discovered his first true love.

He pored over engine diagrams, admired the easy simplicity of every tool falling into its destined purpose, got used to his clothes being stained from tuning up cars all day long.

He’d loved every minute of it, and the truth is, he still does.

Then his cousin Yijin had given him a lift down Mount Samo one day, and 14 year old Yoongi had learned that there was more than one way to soar.

He learned to drive navigating the hairpin bends of Mount Samo, and although he’s perfected the art of drifting up and down it, could do it blindfolded a hundred times over, the thrill of it has never really faded.

He’s picked up a collection of friends over the years, all of whom love the adrenaline of street racing – not knowing what’s round the corner, trusting your own reflexes and instincts to save you when you can barely see for the blood rushing in your veins. 

Kim Seokjin, his oldest and closest friend, the chaebol prince who can put together a Supra’s turbo-2JZ engine almost as quickly as Yoongi himself. His sister, a corporate princess who makes Yoongi’s heart soften and the opposite happen to his cock. They’re the two people Yoongi would do anything for, not that he’d ever tell them that. 

Jung Hoseok, the gifted mechanic with a heart of gold and the sunniest demeanour Yoongi’s ever been able to tolerate, creature of the night that he is. 

Jeon Jungkook, the baby fuckboi of the group, a man with the looks of a god and the persona of a baby deer. Yoongi finds it hard to be anything but endeared by his earnest good nature and anything but amused by his swaggering. Maybe one day the kid will grow into the bad man he so badly wants to be, but Yoongi hopes not. He’s great the way he is. 

It’s been a while since Yoongi felt lonely, in fact his life’s pretty good right about now. 

And at this exact moment? It’s perfect. 

Yoongi’s senses are on overdrive as he swings into a hairpin bend on Mount Samo, tires gripping tarmac sideways. His foot taps the throttle, his hand on the handbrake just in case but he doesn’t need it, he knows the terrain so well his body’s reacting on instinct. 

Sideways on he can see Seokjin to his right, composed, barely breaking a sweat as his rear wheels scrape the very edge of the path, inches from the steep drop. 

Yoongi catches sight of himself in his own rearview mirror, teeth bared in a feral grin as he shoots out onto the final stretch, so fast there’s nothing to see but black. 

He’d normally stop, celebrate his win with a cigarette, but he’s got somewhere to be tonight. 

Behind him now, Seokjin’s headlamps flicker in lieu of a goodbye. 

Yoongi depresses the horn, a sharp short blast, and then he’s gone. 

***

Kang Yubin’s been supplying Yoongi’s father’s garage for years, and Yoongi’s been going to him for car parts since before he knew a spark plug from a catalytic converter. 

The Kang warehouse has an unassuming front in an industrial estate on the outskirts of Seoul. Yoongi parks outside the familiar glass door, can see the dim lighting filtering through the tinted glass as he approaches. 

He pushes open the door, stops, nonplussed. 

Instead of Kang Yubin’s steel-rimmed glasses and grey hair, he’s greeted by you. 

Half your face is obscured by a black face mask, your hair up under a baseball cap, but you’re definitely not who he expected to see. 

He blinks. 

Your eyebrows rise. 

‘Are you lost?’ you inquire, an edge to your voice that pulls him out of his surprised reaction and reminds him why he’s here. 

‘I was expecting Mr Kang,’ Yoongi replies. 

Coming closer to the counter he picks up on a guardedness to your posture, a weariness that you don’t bother to hide. 

‘I’m his granddaughter,’ you say, brief. ‘I’m guessing you didn’t just come here to stare at me, what do you want?’ 

‘Spark plugs – I have a —’ Yoongi breaks off as you get up. 

‘I know who you are, and I know what car you drive. Stay here and I’ll get you your stuff.’

You disappear behind a door, return in minutes with a cardboard box. 

You pull a box-cutter out of a desk drawer, slit the masking tape, pull the flaps up. 

‘Feel free to take a look,’ you say, looking at him. 

It doesn’t take long for Yoongi to verify that they’re what he needs. 

‘How do you know who I am?’ he asks, as he pays. 

There’s a faint spark in your eyes, a flicker so quick he wonders if he’s mis-read it. 

‘My grandfather said you were due around this time.’ 

You nudge your shoulder vaguely in the direction of the screen to your left, a view from the camera overlooking the front of the warehouse. ‘Not many people drive a car like that.’ 

You take his money, nudge the box in his direction. 

‘Pleasure doing business, Min Yoongi. I’ll give my grandfather your regards.’ 

You’re already looking back down at your phone like you’ve dismissed him. 

Yoongi picks up the box, casts another glance at you, and leaves. 

He’s still thinking about you when he reaches home. 

***

Yoongi’s concentrating so hard on the engine in front of him that he barely hears Seokjin approach. 

‘Dinner?’ asks Seokjin, eyes flicking over the V configuration of the 8 chrome cylinders in the custom Nissan with interest. 

Yoongi leans back, massages the crick in his neck from leaning over. 

‘Yeah. Quick though, the client wants a rush on this.’ 

They exchange a look. 

‘More money than sense,’ Seokjin says, critical. 

‘Pays the bills,’ Yoongi counters. 

They have similar opinions about rich clients who want their supercars tuned up. It’s rare that a client’s got the ability to do justice to the horsepower under the bonnet of the flashy exteriors. 

Yoongi shrugs, goes to wash his hands. 

‘Is your sister coming?’ he asks. 

Seokjin’s still admiring the engine. ‘Not tonight. Jimin’s in town,’ he says. ‘There’s a race later, if you change your mind. I’m meeting Jungkook after dinner.’ 

‘Is he still sulking over Mijin?’ Yoongi asks, falling into step beside Seokjin. 

There’s no need to confirm where they’re going, they always stop at a tiny restaurant run by an elderly woman who seems utterly unimpressed by their good manners but makes the best broth in town. 

Seokjin rolls his eyes, but his tone is sympathetic. ‘You know how it is. People never expect him to be as soft as he really is.’ 

Yoongi nods. ‘Tell him if she can’t appreciate him she’s the one missing out.’ 

Seokjin snorts. ‘Tell him yourself, he’ll love it. Are you coming to Seulgi’s party?’ 

It’s rare that Yoongi goes out at night, he’s busy and he does his best work at night time, both in the workshop and on the streets, but he’d promised Seokjin he’d go. 

‘Next week?’ he asks. 

Seokjin nods, pushes open the door to the restaurant. 

‘Yeah, don’t forget.’ 

***

Seulgi is a friend of Seokjin’s, they’d dated briefly, years back, but it hadn’t worked out. 

She greets Seokjin enthusiastically at the door, the pink flush on her cheeks deepening as Seokjin gives her an affectionate hug. 

She beams at Yoongi, and he smiles back because he’s not proof against her cheerful nature. 

It’s how he became friends with Hoseok, after all. 

‘Drinks, let me get you drinks,’ Seulgi cheers, leading them into her kitchen. 

Seokjin’s swept away by Seulgi and her friends, he’s always been a popular guy. He shoots Yoongi a look as he’s pulled into the lounge, which Yoongi pretends not to see. 

He lifts his cup to his lips, decides to go outside for a bit. 

The deck outside has a few scattered people, mostly couples, some groups. 

Yoongi leans against the wall, looks around idly. The throbbing bass of the music feels like a heartbeat. The night is cold and crisp, the skies clear, but there aren’t any stars visible in Seulgi’s backyard. 

He lets his mind wander to his next project, restoring a classic Toyota for a friend from the circuit. He’ll need parts. 

He wonders if you’ll be behind the counter when he next goes to the Kang warehouse. Then he’s straightening up, unsure if he’s manifested you into reality. 

He’s never seen your full face, but he’d know your eyes anywhere. 

You’re standing across the deck, looking straight at him, coat open over a dress that shows a hell of a lot more than the hoodie and sweats you had on the last time he saw you. 

For the first time tonight, Yoongi feels a prickle of interest. 

He’d known you’d be beautiful, there’d been something about the way you carried yourself.

You’re still looking at him. 

Yoongi walks over. 

‘Who’s manning the warehouse?’ he asks, when he gets close enough. 

You tilt your head. ‘Are you really so concerned about my family business, Min Yoongi?’ 

There’s a mocking note in your voice, Yoongi finds he likes it. 

‘You have the best quality parts,’ he says. 

Your smile blooms over your face, making your eyes bright. ‘I knew there was a reason my grandfather liked you.’ 

Yoongi nods to your dress. ‘You look pretty.’ 

‘Thank you,’ you say. ‘You look pretty too.’

Yoongi can feel his lips curving. Are you flirting with him? Seems like you are.

He’s all for it.

You’re raising your cup now, taking a sip.

In the night time lighting, your lips glisten with moisture and whatever lipstick you’ve got on, making him wonder what they’d look like around his cock.

You eye him like you know exactly what he’s thinking.

Yoongi says, ‘Do you like cars? Want to see mine?’

***

You’ve got your legs either side of his torso, your ass bouncing in his lap, and Yoongi’s front seat’s reclined all the way to make room for you to ride him.

The lines of your beautiful body are reminiscent of a triumph of masters of Italian design. Long smooth thighs, tightening around him with every rhythmic thrust. 

The curves of your breasts, bouncing right in his face.

The long line of your neck, head thrown back, the pulse in your throat fluttering as he holds your hips so he can fuck you back, fuck up into your sweet warmth.

His cock fits inside you like he was made for you, and god fucking damn, you feel so good around him he’s on a hair trigger.

Yoongi cups the back of your head, tugs you down so you’re close. Goosebumps prickle your flesh as he tells you how good you are.

Your eyes close as he kisses your bare neck, flicks his tongue against your skin.

You had been whimpering steadily as your arousal dripped down onto him, soaking his balls, pooling at the base of his cock, and as Yoongi picks up the pace he’s gratified by the hitch in your breathing.

Yoongi’s always been damn good at helping his partners find their pleasure, and he’s sure as hell not going to stop now.

Your breasts are still in his face, half out the low neck of your dress, chest heaving.

Yoongi rubs his thumb over the outline of your hardened nipple, and you cry out, muffled with your mouth against his skin but still loud enough to make his ears ring.

His balls tighten up even more as your walls flutter around him, and Yoongi would know you were coming even if you hadn’t gasped it.

God, you’re so sweet and sexy he’s lost.

He can feel your panting breaths against his neck, the weight of your warm body as it goes lax after your peak, the sweet grip of your cunt taking in everything he has to give you as he releases, a pulse of pleasure so intense it sends shockwaves through his skin.

Yoongi’s floating, and like reaching the summit of Mount Samo, he immediately wants to do it again.

You’re looking at him, lips still so swollen and pretty his spent cock gives a residual throb inside you.

‘Like my car?’ Yoongi asks. It’s stupid, but it makes you laugh and he’ll be as stupid as you like if it makes you sound like that.

Your chin lifts, and you say, ‘It’s all right.’

The flash of merriment in your eyes gives you away.

Yoongi laughs. ‘Maybe next time we can get the car started and I can actually take you somewhere.’

‘I don’t know,’ you tease. ‘Are you a good driver?’

Yoongi reaches out, tucks the lock of hair that’s fallen over your eye behind your ear.

‘Let’s find out,’ he says. ‘Where do you want to go?’

***

Yoongi’s thinking about you the next morning when he wakes up. He’d ended up taking you back to your place, where you’d kissed him sweetly at the door and bid him goodbye like a promise to see him again. 

His phone rings and he’s still got you on his mind, so it takes a second for him to regroup. 

‘The maknae needs help,’ Seokjin says, no preamble. ‘I’m going to swing by yours, be there in ten.’ 

Yoongi hangs up, wonders what the hell Jungkook’s got himself into this time. 

By the time Seokjin arrives, Yoongi’s had time to bolt coffee and change, but Seokjin still raises a brow as he swings into the passenger seat. 

As always, Seokjin’s impeccably dressed, dark hair swept back from his forehead like he’s going to his own fucking wedding instead of about to deal with some shit that’s going down. 

Yoongi suppresses a yawn, tugs his beanie down over his brow. 

‘What’s going down with JK?’ he asks. 

Seokjin cuts off another car so smoothly they’re halfway down the intersection before the irritated horn blares. 

‘Remember that race the other day? Jungkook beat Seungho fair and square, I was there.’ 

Yoongi groans. ‘The fuck. I thought we weren’t going to race that fragile asshole anymore.’ 

Seokjin glances in the rearview. ‘The maknae was still hurting over Mijin, I thought an easy win might make him feel better.’ 

‘So what’s Seungho done?’ 

‘Brought in the big guns,’ Seokjin says grimly. ‘Called in some guys from Hongkong. JK’s with them now.’ 

Now Yoongi’s fully awake. ‘Should’ve taken my car instead of this piece of shit,’ he says. 

Seokjin just laughs. ‘Don’t worry about my car, Yoongi. Maybe think of a way to hide that big–ass hickey on your neck.’ 

‘Suck my dick,’ Yoongi says, like they’re 16 again. 

‘Looks like someone already did,’ Seokjin returns. 

***

Yoongi parks up outside the Kang warehouse, pushes open the door. 

You look up from your phone. Your face mask is off, so Yoongi has the privilege of seeing the way your lips curve in a smile. 

‘There’s been a shipment of fuel injectors,’ you say. ‘Want to take a look?’ 

Yoongi stops just in front of the wooden half-panel that separates you from him. 

He tilts his head. 

‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘Also, I took my friend’s Honda for a spin today, I’ve got a list.’ 

He smooths out the piece of paper he’s got folded in his pocket, places it on the counter. 

You pick it up, get up. ‘I’ve got you.’ 

Yoongi runs a hand over the hickey over his neck. ‘I’ve been taking shit all day, about this,’ he adds. 

‘Yeah?’ you ask, but you don’t seem the least bit contrite. ‘You did your share of marking, Min Yoongi.’ 

Yoongi asks, ‘What time do you get off?’ 

You’re about to answer when the door opens. 

Yoongi turns and tenses immediately. 

Fucking Shin Seungho. 

‘You following me?’ he asks mildly. 

Seungho scoffs, doesn’t deign to reply. 

‘I’m collecting an order,’ he says to you. 

Your face mask is back on, your face carefully blank. ‘Sure, what’s the name?’ 

When you go into the back to collect it Seungho turns to Yoongi. 

Yoongi concentrates on the silkscreen of a cat on the wall behind the counter. 

He can feel Seungho’s eyes on his face. 

Just try it, fucker. 

The fact was, he’d pushed Seokjin’s Honda to its limits beating Seungho’s friends today, and although the adrenaline’s ebbed, there’s a thin streak still running through his bloodstream, and he’s a spark away from igniting. 

Seungho takes a step closer, and Yoongi turns to face him like he’s got all the time in the world. 

You return just as Seungho opens his filthy mouth. 

‘Looks like you’ve paid,’ you say, passing the box across the counter to Seungho. 

You pull out the box cutter, slit the package, open it up for him to check, but don’t put it down. 

‘Am I going to have trouble here, boys?’ you ask. 

Seungho barely looks your way, Yoongi’s always known the man lacks vision. 

‘Nah,’ Seungho says finally. He picks up the box, sneers at Yoongi. 

Yoongi blanks his expression. There’s no way he’s going to start shit with Seungho in front of you. 

The asshole’s not worth it. 

As soon as the door closes behind Seungho you put down the box cutter. 

The next words out of your mouth surprise him. 

‘Shit, you’re hot when you’re mad, Yoongi.’ 

Yoongi stares at you, flummoxed, then he laughs. 

‘Just when I’m mad?’ he asks. 

You shrug. ‘Take me out on a date and I’ll tell you more.’ 

‘How about right now?’ Yoongi asks. 

‘Yeah,’ you say. ‘Let’s go.’ 

***

As your grip on his hair loosens, Yoongi lifts his mouth from your cunt, swipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Helps you tug your panties back up, smooths your skirt back down over your thighs. 

He notices you’ve still got his cum in the corner of your lips. As he watches, you flick your tongue out, lick delicately. 

His cock stirs with interest, and you act like you know it. 

‘More later?’ you ask. 

‘Yeah. After I win.’ 

Yoongi reaches over to help you with your seatbelt, arranging it across your chest, between your breasts, securing it. 

You lean forward and kiss him as the belt clicks into place. 

Yoongi starts the engine, turns the heating back on because he’s noticed your hands get cold easily. 

‘I can drop you off at home before the race,’ he offers. ‘Come see you after.’ 

‘I want to see you drive,’ you say.

Yoongi wouldn’t say it, but he’s pleased. He knows he’ll keep you safe, it’s a circuit through the city outskirts he’s done a million times, and he’s looking forward to you meeting Seokjin and Hoseok and Jungkook. 

He flicks on the lights, rolls into oncoming traffic. Heads North. 

By the time he pulls up to the starting line there’s the usual crowd gathered. He parks up next to Seokjin and Hoseok.  

In his rearview he can see JK surrounded by people. He’s lost the sad puppy air he had for a few weeks whilst he was pining after Mijin. The kid’s going to be all right, not that Yoongi’s ever had any doubt about that. 

Engines all around him are starting up, a deafening series of rumbles. 

Beside him, Seokjin waves, and Hoseok smiles so brightly it’s blinding. 

The flag waves, and Yoongi accelerates. 

Checks on you in the rearview, and you’re as pretty as he remembers. 

Min Yoongi’s spent a lot of his life looking for connection, and by his reckoning, he’s doing pretty well right about now. 

Lights flash by in a blur. 

Yoongi drives. 

Author note: And that's a wrap! Thank you for reading, hope you've enjoyed, here's to a brighter 2024. This time last year we were saying goodbye to Kim Seokjin, I can't wait to start welcoming the boys back again. Happy holidays to you all!

©hamsterclaw 2023

[just-some-user-hunny]

Aurelia Targaryen the bastard princess pt.2

Her relationship with her closest family members...

. As Aurelia grew, the more she found herself more inclined to keep herself distracted. She found comfort in a needle and thread- pushing and pulling the silver thorn between canvases, mimicking a memory from long ago. Craving the comfort of sewing clothes and cushions in her little home, but instead of mending ragged shirts and socks, she weaves stories with silken thread and beads.

. She'd often find herself accompanying Heleana, the two soft-spoken princesses lost within the comfort of silence and dance of fingers and needle. Heleana would embroider silver winged butterflies and spindle legged spiders, whilst Aurelia would weave pictures of dragons and flame. The two little twins playing nearby, tended to by a maid with cast down eyes. Helaena was a kind company, her odd dreamy mutterings were nothing but distant bird songs to her ears. She could not understand, but she listened and appreciated it.

. The training grounds often bored her, you see. She would often feel inclined to watch Jace and Luke train with their clashing swords, perched upon a balcony above like a ruffled dove, her gleaming dress of seafoam and gold surrounding her in a cloud of soft fabric. Her heart had warmed over the years towards the two princes, as she could only stay bitter and sad for so long at so many people. Her heart grew lonely, and those two found themselves wiggling their way inside.

She would often capture their glances towards her like she were the sun, their smiles just as bright. She'd smile and blow playful kisses, finding laughter as Luke would pout and Jace waving back. However Aemond, the one eyed prince, his intense smouldering glare would startle her- causing her to shy away in the end. She found no amusement in the clash of steel or the shouts of men, the kick of dust and rubble polluting the air. Nor the willowy man who'd glue his eyes to her like she were some spectacle.

. After all, she had her half-sisters to tend to.

Rhaena and Baela.

The twin girls would sail upon oceans to visit, always bearing tender expressions and gifts. The older girls would spoil her, almost as rotten as Rhaenyra would. Treasures of pearls and sea glass, jewelry fashioned into shapes of seahorses and dolphins and shells, all placed upon her throat in golden chains. But Aurelia could only look forward to being in their arms again, that was the greatest treasure she could ask of them.

Their hair of spun silver and gold almost seemed to tangle into one as they'd hold one another, Aurelia finding comfort in their familiarity and embrace. They were kind to her as a child, the closest she had felt to ever since she had been taken. The adults never seemed to understand, always blinded by their own greed and power- but the friendship between children is simple and pure.

. Rhaenyra was a warm and kind woman. Warm hands and eyes, embracing and gazing at her with wholehearted adoration.

Often would the silver haired woman preen and tend to her curls of silvery gold locks, picking at braids with gentle fingertips and brushing down the fabric of her dress to look presentable, before smiling happily and kissing her daughter upon her brow. Syrax is just as attentive, bowing her neck of gold scales to coo and trill like a mother bird- huffing her smoky sulphur burnt breath over her face, her snout nestling within Aurelia's palm contently before retreating to her riders side.

. To them, she was a soft little dove. Letting them bestow her with pretty things for her nest of solitude, gleaming silk threads to embroidery with, or shimmering gowns made of the finest fabric and jewels. It almost seemed to weigh her down, like chains. Pretty chains made of gold and gems are still chains.

But to Daemon? She was just as spiteful and stubborn as she had been the day he took her. She seldom even looked at him. Him and Ceraxes both frightened and angered her.

Her breath would catch in her throat whenever the blood scaled beast would chirp and coil close to her like a viper, his eyes beady and predatory like a shark. She was just as much in his hovering possessive glare as her father's, whose eyes seemed just the same. Watching. Nitpicking. Controlling. Yet he'd still speak to her like everything was simple and plain, like she wasn't under his thumb. She'd curse and curse him in her mind, under her breath, grinding the words of his name between her fingertips into dust- as if it would eradicate him entirely. Daemon was aware, of course he was. But he couldn't care less. Seeing her all dolled up in pretty fabrics and looking clean and healthy kept him docile. No matter how much his daughter would spite him with venomous glares and pursed lips every time he'd forbid her from riding her dragon without him accompanying, or simply leaving the castle to walk upon the beach without a guard trailing her heels like always.

[letsgetrowdy43]

The Timeline—

Au Masterlist!!

Lucia Fantilli was kind of lonely in the sense that her brothers have always been considered one and she's always been the other.

The boys grew up in billets families in the States and she remained at home in Ontario with her parents.

She visited Chicago often when her brothers played for the Steele, the city holding a special place in her heart, so obviously when thinking about colleges University of Chicago was a big contender.

The boys tried to get her to go to Umich with them, but she knew Michigan wasn't the school for her.

Chicago offered her a soccer scholarship, so the decision was practically made for her

She lived her first year in a single dorm and worked at the library, she met her best friends and future roommates this year.

Christmas rolled around and so did the WJC which was taking place in Halifax, as we know Adam played, meaning that Lucy and the rest of the Fantilli family all found their way to the East Coast to celebrate Christmas and to watch the boy represent his country.

This is where she meets Connor for the first time, just a simple greeting at the beginning of the championship, and a warm congratulations after they take home gold.

She was a little starstruck by it all as he smiles sweetly and heads back to find his family.

Lucy then says her goodbyes to her brothers and parents as she makes her venture back to Chicago to finish out her freshman year.

The rest of the school year is very calm, she flies down to Tampa to watch the Frozen Four, they lose, and then Adam wins the Hobey Baker.

Many tears are shed as he gives his is speech, mentioning her as she cries with Luca in the crowd.

She truly does love her brothers, but sometimes it's a little bittersweet

She flies back to Toronto after exams end to work and hang out with her hometown friends, Luca is with the Umich boys in Florida, and Adam is headed off to Worlds then to the cup playoffs for prospect media and then finally the combine.

Next, it is the week of the draft, and the Fantillis are in Nashville, they'd been invited out to the NHL awards.

She gets lost in the crowd and separated from her family as they walk the carpet, her eyes find Connors as he ushers her over after seeing the panicked look on her face.

They walk the carpet together, he shyly compliments her dress as he greets fans and stops for interviews. Both of them were overwhelmed by the chaos that surrounded them, but both of them kept their smiles as they entered the building where their respective families were waiting for them.

Luca does not like the look of whatever that was, Adam thinks Connor is harmless so he's fine.

Draft Day is more chaotic than the night before, tears in her eyes as she watches Adam get called up into the stage 3rd overall.

He took her by surprise as he pulled her into his chest first, before Luca, a short “I'm so proud of you, I love you Mo,” leaving her mouth as he hugged his twin, a quiet “thank you for being my best friend,” leaving his mouth as she squeezed him even harder.

He's on that stage, displaying the little “Momma • Dad • Luca • Lucia” on the top of his vest as she cries even harder as he looks up to his family and he takes in his moment.

After the tears are dried and the media is in progress the Fantillis leave the crowd in search of the boy.

Lucy runs into Connor once again, congratulating him on being first, he makes a little comment about her dress and how she seemingly looks prettier every time he sees her, she's red in the face but she sums it up to the adrenaline he must be feeling in that moment.

After the draft ended all of the families headed out for dinner and other celebrations, and just after that was a draft party for all of the draftees held by the league.

It's a great time, she somehow finds her way next to Connor as she talks to Rutger’s older sister about the concert at the award show the night before.

She follows him out into the hallway as he's taking a break from the noise and the pictures that are currently taking place between draftees, their families, and past teammates.

“You okay?” she asks a little worried, “been a long day, that's all,”

It was very quiet between them as she sat down on the hall floor next to him, back pressed against the wall, “can't even start to imagine what you've been dealing with,” she whispered, “I would crumble,” she jokes as he shrugs and tells her that it's just part of the bigger picture, he's put up with it for his dream.

She finds him inspirational, he's the same age as her, yet he's so much more than her in the way that he has established a name for himself and he's living out his dreams. She doesn't have dreams, just a need to never be forgotten.

Heavy tipsy flirting follows the vulnerability as he whisks her away from the party, and they somehow find their way to his single hotel room.

Both of them wake up very early, in a bit of a panic because whatever happened between them is not normal behaviour for either of them. She rushes to get dressed and to find her hotel so her family doesn't go looking for her.

Fast forward a few months and she's moving into her apartment, her new roommates Lily and Daisy are unpacking the car as they take the plethora of boxes up the elevator to their new home for the year.

In Lucy’s hands is the last box out of the car, she waits for the elevator, excitement in her chest as she awaits the decorating process upstairs in her new room. She gets in the elevator and the doors begin to shut but not before someone slips in at the last second and presses the button for the floor above hers.

A very familiar “sorry” leaves his lips as they both look at each other with shock in their eyes.

A breathy “hey” left her lips as he stared at her in shock before a quiet “Lucy,” left his mouth, almost sounding like something of a relief.

“You live here?” she nods, “I'm moving in right now,” she subtly shakes the moving box in her hands as she smiles at him.

The elevator dings and the door opens, “please don't be a stranger, text me and maybe we can get coffee or something,” she says coolly as she walks off of the elevator and turns to him with a sweet smile.

But the second that door shuts her jaw drops and her eyes go wide as she stands in shock for a second before making a beeline to her apartment to tell her roommates.

-

-

-

[yandereforme]

Twin Yandere Dieties, Axdon and Amis, who loved you in another life and weren’t willing to let you leave in this one.

You were originally a reluctant visitor to the temple, who only came due to pressure from friends and family, but you were interesting enough to draw their attention. They loved you deeply, but they didn’t always pay very much attention to you, and were manipulative and dismissive towards your concerns about the relationship.

Things came to a head when you caught Axdon with another person. You stopped visiting them all together, angry and heartbroken. This was what started their descent into a yandere mindset. Both Axdon and Amis missed you, but you wouldn’t accept their gifts, straight up ignoring the Axdon’s gifts and being cold to Amis after you found out they knew about the affair. The twins were starting to go crazy due to the lack of your love, causing major disasters to start up in different parts of the country. Finally, you agreed to meet up with them again in the temple. They were sitting waiting for you when they heard the scream, your scream.

They held you while you died, neither noticing the binding spells around them until it was too late. In anger, Amis cast a curse condemning that family line to always be marked for their sins, with a red mark on their body, similar to the silver and gold their lover had gotten for them on the small of their back, but this mark would cause pain when touched and work as a brand/mark of their crimes. Axdon cursed the family to always endure tragedy, and never live a happy or blissful life until you were returned to them.

(The reason you were killed? Revenge, plain and simple. They blamed you and your twin gods for the disasters (which were the gods faults) and decided to destroy the threat by killing you and encasing the gods in a ritual object(I’m thinking a knife or pot))

Fast forward several hundred years later, to modern times when some European archaeologists discovered and accidentally released the gods, who immediately released hell on earth. After a few days, they brought in a translator of the dead language the gods were speaking, and managed to discern that Axdon and Amis would not stop until all who were marked were brought to them to kill. Amis decided to make it easier on the mortals by keeping a counter of the amount of people left.

Fast forward again, it’s a post apocalyptic world following the gods’ return. There are only three marked people left(the number went up a month ago, making both of the gods’ angry.)

You, your little sister, and your newborn child are the last people to have the mark. You saw your family slaughtered around you, and ran. You watched in horror, as those ‘gods’ killed and tortured your family one after another. You may have not cared for your family, may have been angry with their treatment of you and your sister, but this? They didn’t deserve to suffer this.

Now, the father of your baby, your now ex-fiancée, was standing smugly with a new girl on his arm as you and your sister were brought in chains to the gods. You held your baby close to your chest, not making eye contact with the gods, until one got closer and you heard them singing under their breath a song you knew vaguely, a song you used to hum when working, but-

“Your singing it wrong.” It took a second for you to realize what you said. You could hear the gasps behind you, and you moved in front of your sister, shoving the baby into her arms as you did so.

“You little-“ One started before the other cut them off. “How should I be singing it then?” The voice was cold, making you shiver, but you steeled your nerves and looked up at the bastards. If you were going to die, you might as well not be a little bitch about it.

You cleared your throat, and with hatred in your heart and eyes, you started to sing. It was a song of unrequited but undeniable love, but you channeled your anger into it, making it as if the singer was angry at being made to fall in love.

You watched as the gods grew still as you sang, how their looks of explosive anger and sadistic cruelty changed to shock and awe. You could feel your sister shifting behind you, but you didn’t look away from the cruel gods, not even after your song ended.

“Where is your mark?” The second one asked coolly. The guard nearest to you grabbed you, eager to show it off, but the first one growled and he let go. You glared as you shifted around to show it off, turning to face your sister. You could hear two sets of footsteps grow closer, and see your sister’s frightened expression.

The guards had carved a whole into your shirt, showing off your mark on the small of your back. You knew your mark was different than the others, and had heard the guards joking about if this made you more important to be killed, and meant they would get paid more for helping to bring you in.

You could feel their hands tracing your mark, and you were surprised by how nice it felt. Your mark usually burned at touch, but this felt almost relaxing, something that would have made you smile if not for the situation at hand.

“It can’t be…” the angrier twins voice was hushed, almost reverent. Suddenly, your baby let out a whimper, and you grabbed them into your arms as quickly as you could, but you could hear the stillness behind you.

You turned around with your baby in your arms. You could see the little red mark on their arm, amid the bruises you knew the guards caused. You saw a hand reach out to the baby and pulled away, keeping your sister behind you. Suddenly, you had a desperate, wild idea. They seemed interested in you right? Maybe they would spare your sister and child if you went with them, or at least grant them a quick death.

“Leave them alone. I- I’ll let you kill me and do whatever you want just, leave them be, please.” Your voice shook and you hated yourself for it. The twins looked …. Shocked. The angrier one looked devastated, while the other one looked contemplatively at you, your baby, and your sister

You felt the shock of a guard kicking you down to the ground, but you only had a moment before the gods struck. One of them grabbed the guard by the throat, while the other rested a hand on your face, turning it upwards towards them.

“We will not kill you, nor your siblings. No one will take you from us again.” You couldn’t understand what was going on. You could vaguely hear the crowd murmuring behind you, and the sounds of the other god slowly torturing the guard who kicked you, but you could only really focus on your blood roaring in your ears and the worried, almost tender look the the god in front of you was giving you.

What the actual fuck?

Note:in case you didn’t realize it when you read it, you are your own reincarnation. The gods started to figure it out with the song, but your mark and its coloring confirmed their suspicions. Also, you don’t know their names when you meet them after being reborn, but Amis was the one humming. If you want to request anything with them, let me know!

Also, I’m running on jet lag and so tired so idk if this is terrible

[jules-writes-stories]

Elucien Week | Day 4 | High (Fae) Society | Full Chapter on AO3

A Heart of Gold

A Retelling of King Midas, Lucien x Elain

...But he was a High Fae male, and he wanted her. And she wanted him back. Perhaps, if he played with her…

“Do you enjoy games?” Lucien turned to face the beautiful woman in the moonlight. Her eyebrows shot up. Shadows of suspicion crossed her soft features. For every human was taught from the cradle to beware the trickster Fae and their bargains, gifts, and games.

But at this very moment, in the amber light of the full moon, the lull of the waves beating against the surf, beside this beautiful male with golden brown skin and hair like a flame, Elain felt brave. She wanted to do something reckless. She was tired of being the one to stay behind. The soft, quiet, middle sister, a flower garden tucked away between silver flames, steel, and stardust. For just one night, Elain wanted to fly, and burn, and bleed.

“Yes. I will play.” She looked boldly at the male.

Lucien nodded. “It’s a Fae game, called Two Truths, and a Trick. Usually, there are enchantments involved. I might glamour myself, and you would have to decide what upon my person was magicked and what was real.” He noted her wary look. “But we will keep it simple. I will offer you two truths and one falsehood. You must guess which is the lie.”

Elain’s toes curled in anticipation. She was adept at reading others. Even as a child, her father often let her sit in on his meetings, asking for her first impressions. She was quiet and unassuming. And men especially, underestimated her, because of her beauty and soft nature. But she listened well, and watched carefully, and was very keen and clever.

“Very well. What do I get,” she asked, “should I answer correctly?” She smiled cheekily at Lucien.

And for the first time, the High Fae seemed at a loss. But he recovered quickly. “You can ask me anything, and I have to answer with another truth.” Elain nodded, content.

Lucien faced her. “Alright. I will start. I was raised by a malicious Fire Lord, who learned I was not his own son, but in fact, Helion’s bastard, four hundred year after my birth.” Elain’s eyes grew wide as saucers. Lucien chuckled. But the human studied his lips. His pupils. Whether his nostrils flared.

Lucien’s smile turned devilish. “I glow, when I come.” Elain gasped and face turning red, slapped her hand to her mouth.

“You…” she swallowed, then swatted at his arm. “Incorrigible.” He laughed.

“And, last, I have no desire to ever kiss a human. I find them truly unappealing.” Lucien offer her a slow smile, watching Elain, inhaling her jasmine and honeyed scent. She cleared her throat.

“You do make it difficult.” She sighed. “But I will say that it is true that you were raised by a Fire Lord, and I am assuming your Lady mother must have once been wed to this Lord…” Lucien was impressed.

“I will say it is also true that you…glow… upon…” her face now flushed again, “release.” Lucien huffed a laugh. She mumbled rake, beneath her breath. “So, the lie must be that you have no desire to kiss a human,” she finished. Her voice had lowered to a husky whisper.

Lucien leaned in, his breath warm, his skin smelling of spice and citrus and sunlight. The Fae male lifted a single finger to stroke along the curved shell of Elain’s ear. “You are right. I find these… so pretty.”

She shivered. “Now I get to ask a question and you must answer, truthfully.” Elain felt breathless. There was a warmth, a melting at the apex of her thighs, beneath her navel, as Lucien’s finger moved lower, stroking along the delicate bones of her collarbone, skimming the edges of her gown, so close to where her breasts peaked. How would it feel, for his warm mouth to taste her there? His hands to pull her breasts from her bodice and stroke her, to take her in his mouth. Elain squeezed her thighs together. She wanted that.

And before she could even think, she blurted out, “Do you want me?”

Read the full Chapter on Ao3

@the-darkestminds @prythian-fashion @shadowqueenjude @elucienweekofficial @zenkindoflove

[skyminsworld]

We are of Fire

Rhaenyra Targaryen x Oc Aelyx Targaryen

Rhaenyra Targaryen and her sister-wife Aelyx Targaryen stood on the windswept cliffs of Dragonstone, the ancestral seat of House Targaryen, where the great Valyrian lords had first settled after the Doom. The sky above was a tapestry of swirling gray clouds, reflecting the ancient magic that still lingered in the air, and the sea below roared its approval as waves crashed against the black stone of the island.

The ceremony was steeped in the traditions of Old Valyria, a tribute to their heritage and a reminder of the dragons’ might. Rhaenyra, with her silver-gold hair cascading down her back and her violet eyes shimmering with resolve, stood proud in a gown of red and white. Beside her, Aelyx, her sister-wife, matched her in a similar gown, their hands entwined in a bond stronger than the most unyielding Valyrian steel.

The ritual began at dusk, under the auspices of the Blood Moon, a celestial event said to bless the union of two souls destined for greatness. The High Valyrian words of the priestess echoed through the stillness, invoking the favor of the gods. "Jal Wun Azantys," she chanted, "by blood and fire."

Their dragons, Syrax and Vermithor, stood sentinel nearby, their eyes glowing like molten gold in the dim light. The presence of the dragons was vital, for they were not only mounts but symbols of the Targaryens' dominion and their unbreakable bond. As the ceremony progressed, the dragons roared in unison, sending chills down the spines of all present, a clear sign that the old gods were watching.

A sacred blade, forged in the fires of Dragonstone itself, was brought forth. Rhaenyra and Aelyx each pricked a finger, letting their blood mingle on the blade. "A binding of blood," the priestess intoned, "as it was in Valyria, so it shall be now." The blood was then mixed with fire, a small pyre lit by the dragonflame, representing the unity of their house and their shared destiny.

The final vows were taken in High Valyrian, their voices strong and unwavering despite the howling winds. "Nyke ēdrutas ao," Rhaenyra pledged, "I am yours." Aelyx responded, "Nyke ēdrutas ao," echoing the eternal promise. As the flames flared brighter, they clasped hands, their fingers stained with each other’s blood, and kissed, sealing their vows not only to each other but to the legacy they would forge together.

The feast that followed was a lavish affair, with roasted meats, exotic fruits, and the finest Dornish wines, a celebration worthy of their union. Songs of Old Valyria were sung, and the air was filled with laughter and the roar of dragons. In the great hall of Dragonstone, banners bearing the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen fluttered, illuminated by the flickering torchlight.

As the night drew on, Rhaenyra and Aelyx slipped away to the heights of Dragonstone, where they could be alone under the stars and moon up the sky. The future was uncertain, filled with both promise and peril, but in that moment, they were together, bound by ancient tradition and their indomitable will.

Thus, under the watchful eyes of their dragons and the ancient gods, Rhaenyra Targaryen and Aelyx Targaryen began their journey as sister-wives, their fates intertwined, their hearts aflame with the promise of the legacy they would create together.They knew what will come ,lots of hardship but they had each other

A promise of life ,once a dragon has it's treasure it will keep it to itself burning anyone who tries to steal what is rightfully theirs.

[angel-of-the-moons]

Nothing Is Lost

Khonshu x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: Nothing yet! Well... Maybe the angst. Hehehe

A/N: Please save my from my hyperfixation of the angry old bird man. Also, new characters, who dis? owo

Taglist: @drinkingwithkhonshu @astrosphereblog @themostegotisticalgirl124 @patchesofwork

Chapter: 11

Styx And Stones

The air was still, dead. There were no sounds here, not even insects to chirp incessantly at him as his feet silently crept on the stone floors.

The walls were preserved thanks only in part to his magic; the paint still looking as fresh as the day it had dried. His hand ran along the wall, his eyes tracing every motif, marking, word and face.

The most prominent, a woman. A woman whose painting did no justice even close to how she would have looked had you stared at her in the flesh; her twinkling green eyes, her soft giddy smile...

His beloved. His beauty.

And here he was, walking around her gravesite like a ghost; as he had for literal lifetimes, still feeling the throb of his grief as though it had happened yesterday.

A fine layer of dust covered many of the items scattered in the tomb, some thin sheets worn delicate with age; dresses--one of her favorites included; a dress made entirely of various beads--laid out as though they were waiting for her to wake up and select her clothing for the day.

But that day was not to come. Nostalgia plagued him as his gloved fingers brushed through the layer of dust as his hand cupped the cheek of her bust, sat perfectly in place among her things, the gold collar she adored so much glittering even among the dust and the dark.

His fingers trailed over the stone lips before bringing them to his own and returning them to the bust; his best approximation of a kiss. It was nowhere near as fulfilling as when her soft skin would press against his, but... It was all he had left. Just her portraits, her image, and the ghosts of her lingering still hanging in the air like a steel curtain.

His shoes were still silent with every step as he made his way into the main burial chamber, his eyes drawn to the stone sarcophagus in the middle of the chamber. A hole in the ceiling--a false skylight--let in bright rays of his magical moonlight, hitting various gold and silver mirrors, providing soft light to illuminate the room, highlighting the clouds of dust that wafted about as the air was disturbed by his presence.

At the foot of the sarcophagus was a small miniature. Painted to look like the home she inhabited while she was alive, the small basin of water meant to signify her favorite pond long dried; the small budding papyrus plants and lotuses long withered and dead. Small wood and clay statues signifying the date palm, fruit, and sycamore trees around the pond laden with dust; like everything else in the tomb.

His palms spread out over the stone of the sarcophagus, lovingly painted with blessings and spells; stories from friends and loved ones of who she was, what she did, and how her very existence brightened so very many lives.

His included; in ways he didn't expect a mortal to ever inspire him.

He hung his head low, the inscription of her name painted vibrantly and with much love and detail by one of his very own priests. Hell, his priest, his Fist at the time, was the very one to help him prepare her tomb.

She was as much a family to him as though she were his own sister; her death pained him as much as it did everyone else's own hearts. He remembered seeing the tears fall down his face, smudging his eyeliner and causing it to run in black rivers down his cheeks as he administered the final prayers as her coffin was lowered into the sarcophagus.

Khonshu's only and greatest guilt was that he never sounds the identity of her killer, that he never got to see that justice was delivered and the life leave the perpetrator's eyes with his own.

The light dimmed, leaving the chamber in pitch black nothingness; a void he himself has felt like he was swimming through since her life left this world and departed into the next.

"I am sorry, Merit." He whispered softly, his palms curling into fists as his head hung low.

"Okay, miss, the doctor is ready for you, now." The receptionist told you as she slid the glass divider closed once again.

Your fingers tapped your knees anxiously, bouncing as you swallowed the lump of anxiety that had lodged itself in your esophagus before standing, your fingers tapping your thighs as the door to the back of the office opened up for you.

A woman whose skin was spotted and slightly wrinkled; almost stretched too tight over her hooked nose and sharp cheekbones, thick curly auburn hair going silver at her temples. A mole beneath her left eye, her irises a deep green behind her thickly-rimmed glasses. Honestly... she looked more like some sort of librarian than a doctor, but... you had to take what you could get, given your lack of funds and what your insurance would and wouldn't cover.

You step past her and she smiles her thin lips at you, "Well hello, dear. It's nice to meet you, my name is Doctor Pritchard, but you can call me Gale."

"Ah... right. It's... nice to meet you. Um. Gale." You say, trying out the overly sweet woman's name on your tongue. It felt weird, syrupy, almost, but not in a comforting way.

"This way, sweetie." She says, stepping into a door to your right, holding the door open for you to walk in.

The office was rustically decorated. It felt like you were in some sort of log cabin than a psychiatrist's office. She had large flat screens placed strategically on the walls to resemble windows; the real windows covered with thick rugs (or were they tapestries?) to block out the "unsightly" scenery of the city outside.

One the screens was different views of some sort of valley nestled between some mountains. Birds flew by, the trees and tall grass and flowers swayed softly in the breeze; a herd of deer stop to sip at the lake before prancing away. It really did feel soothing to look at, honestly. Cosy, and warm. A far cry from the sterile waiting room you were forced to anxiously chew your nails in before your appointment.

"Okay!" Gale said, gesturing for you to sit on the rather vintage-looking sofa across from her rocking chair, pulling out her tablet and opening a file to begin constructing on you.

"Now, what made you want to schedule an appointment with me, sweetheart?" She hummed at you, tapping away on her tablet.

Your legs begin bouncing again as you awkwardly sink into the too-soft cushions of the couch, chewing the inside of your cheek.

"Well, I--" You sigh, running a hand trough your hair as you try to find a way to explain without sounding like a crazy person.

You swallow deeply, your jaw set tight as you glance away from her and to the soft shaggy carpet.

"It's okay, sweetheart. This is a safe place." She assures you gently, her voice exuding a gentle, motherly tone to encourage you to spill your guts. You tried to ignore the angry pit of snakes that were roiling about in your gut.

"I've been... I've been having night terrors for as long as I can remember. They've gotten... worse. I'm not sleeping, and I--I've been dreaming even when I'm awake, and..."

You start babbling, all the stress and strain of the past several weeks finally slamming down hard on your shoulders, destroying that dam you'd constructed to try and keep the building waters of stress and confusion at bay.

You drop your head in your hands when your throat finally goes dry from your constant speaking, your hands shaky as you try to gather your scattered thoughts; "I just... I... I don't know what to do, or... or how to... to explain what the dreams are."

Gale picks up her phone and unlocks it, tapping something away hastily, "Describe the most vivid scenery you can for me, dear. One that evokes calm and peace."

"Ah, uh..." You balk, trying to think. There were so many, but...

"A.... a pond. It opens up into... into the Nile. There are stone pillars, trees, bushes, flowers... fish. The sky is clear and... the wind isn't too rough." You moisten your dry lips with your tongue and continue: "I could walk out onto the banks of the river. There were plants growing on the banks. I could..."

Your eyes seem to stare off, your mind disconnecting momentarily as you paint the scene as best you could with your words.

"I could see some kind of--of building or something. Boats on the water. Fisherman, maybe... I... I'm sorry but that's all I can..."

"No, no that's very good." Gale assured you brightly. "It helps me with this."

You look up at the "window" screens, and it goes from the peaceful mountain lake scenery to... to an image of an environment you'd dreamt about and imagined and haunted your dreams.

The banks of the Nile, calm and glassy in the early morning--or was it evening?--as birds stayed motionless in the sky, the date trees standing tall and proud around the banks. Scrubby brush, bushes and papyrus plants are visible as well; the most prominent being the buildings in the distance.

It takes her a minute, but she puts the image through some kind of program that animated the water, makes the trees sway and moves the birds in the sky in the background, the fronds of the trees swaying ever so slightly.

"Give me... just a moment." She murmurs, tapping away some more.

After a few seconds, the sounds of water, plants, insects, animals and faint music began to play, and you feel your heartbeat quicken slightly. Neither were exactly as your mind remembered them but... they were close.

You felt a pang of longing in your heart, your stomach twisting as the nest of snakes calm for the moment; no longer striking out within you, instead settling for coiling and slithering over one another. Not as violent as before, but still unsettling.

"I... h-how did you..."

"It's all a part of how I conduct sessions. It puts your mind a bit into the scenery of what you dream about." She said, smiling sweetly at you once again. "My way of conducting sessions is a bit of auditorial and visual relaxation. It's also why my office is so... Comfortable. It's styled off of my daddy's old office he had when I was a little girl! Certainly helps me conduct my work."

You saw in reviews online that her methods were... unconventional. Unconventional, but cheap. Which is ideally what you wanted. You simply couldn't afford a therapy bill that'd wound your wallet (and credit) for years to come.

"Now... there is... another thing I can do to help you get in to the mindset is... well." She chuckled softly, almost sounding like the soft hooting of an owl. "I can put you under a state of hypnosis. Or, well... almost-hypnosis. A trance. Would you like that?"

You chewed your lip. The logical part of your brain knew that realistically... hypnosis was a very controversial subject in the field of psychology. It can be used to manipulate people's thoughts or memories, plant false ones, even. It just wasn't... right.

But then again, your life was anything but "right" lately, wasn't it?

"Okay."

"Wonderful." Gale sighed softly, looking up at you. "Now... lie back on the couch and close your eyes."

You do as she says, your lashes kissing your cheeks as you try and will your body to replace; your pulse still fluttering wildly in your veins, your stomach still rioting with anxiety.

"I want you to loosen every muscle in your body and focus on the sounds I have playing on the speakers. Remember the scenery you explained to me. Imagine yourself standing in the waters of that little pond..."

You hum a peaceful tune as the cool water kisses your ankles, soaking the thin linen of your dress, causing it to stick to your skin as you move deeper into the calm, gentle waves. Birds chirp and the breeze graces your skin gently, the sun occasionally disappearing behind some puffy clouds, granting a moment's respite from the harsh heat.

The baby in your arms coos softly, her big golden-brown eyes glimmer up at you as she babbles; the dark mess of hair on her little head a stark contrast to her skin; the color reminding you of fresh clay before it was shaped. She got her skin tone from her father, definitely.

"Now, Heba..." You giggle as she grasps a lock of your wig, her chubby little fingers trying to grab the shiny beads braided in. You urge your finger into her fat little fist, distracting her enough that she looks at you once again, blinking her curious young eyes up at you in wonder; her round cheeks almost obscuring her eyes as she smiles, the hints of bottom teeth peeking through her gums.

Heba squirms as the water reaches above your waist, tickling her little toes as they poke through the cloth you have her partially swaddled in.

You reach down and pluck a lotus from the water and inhale the sweet perfume that comes from its not-quite-blue center, before holding it beneath Heba's nose, letting her sniff it. Apparently, her little nose did not like it, given how violently she sneezed, a short squeak coming from her and making you laugh.

Her little lip began to wobble as she sniffled, her beautiful eyes welling up with tears--as if you played some sort of mean joke on her. You tuck the lotus behind your own ear and lift her up, peppering chubby cheeks with kisses; kissing away her tears until she cooed and giggled, shoving your face away from her.

Strong arms circle your waist, warm breath tickles your neck as lips leave a soft trail to the skin behind your ear. Heba babbles at him and you can't help but giggle as she tucks herself against your breast, grasping at your gown as she attempts to converse.

"You are a natural with her." His warm voice murmurs against your skin.

"Yes, I do have experience with babies, after all. I remember helping take care of my little brother." You sigh wistfully, remembering how it felt to hold him for that very first time... how fragile and delicate he was before he grew into the boy he would forever be remembered as, even in death.

"I know." He whispers leaning his head over your shoulder so the both of you could peer down at Heba, her innocent eyes blinking up at the both of you with unfiltered, raw trust in her gaze.

Your lover's hand reaches around you and brushes her cheek affectionately. "I am glad I had a hand in her birth. She is a charming girl."

"Oh, and I have a feeling many will be throwing their bundles at her in desperation when she's older. She will be a beauty, that's for certain." You giggle as he nuzzles your shoulder, planting another kiss there.

"A beauty, like you. Let's hope your influence rubs off on her, hm?"

You sigh as Heba snuggles against you again, a small yawn cutely coming from her pouty lips. She would need to be put down for her mid-day rest, soon.

"Merit." His honey-rich voice says as his breath ghosts over your skin.

"Hm?"

"You--"

--sit up with a jolt as a cold cloth is placed on your forehead, your hands scrambling to grip the edges of the couch as your eyes blearily focus on the older woman in front of you.

"Oh, goodness! I was getting worried!" Gale sighs at you, fanning herself in relief. "You started talking in another language in the end, there, dear!"

The sounds of the water, the music, and even the bellow of a hippopotamus in the background is no longer soothing--it is overstimulating you, your heart fluttering wildly like a bird trying to flee a too-small cage.

"Turn it off." You whisper, feeling how damp with sweat your clothing had become.

Gale furrowed her brows at you, but relented, getting up to hit the mute button on the audio track she had pulled up, once more switching the Nile scenery back to the same lakeside view that had been there before you sat down.

"Is that better, sweetie?" Gale asked gently.

Your hands trembled and you wiped your sweaty palms on your thighs, your jeans soaking up your dampness quickly. "Yes. Please. Are we done?" You babble nervously.

"Well... almost, actually. You have five minutes left." Gale said, lifting her eyes to check the cuckoo clock above the doorway.

You shudder, cradling your head in your hands as you made a frustrated sob. Why was this happening to you? You should have known agreeing to that hypnosis shit would be a bad idea!

"Did any... anything I said make sense?" You croak.

"Well, you certainly described much of it in vivid detail. You couldn't describe the man you were imagining," Gale murmured aloud as she wrote something down on her tablet. "Which actually makes sense."

"Makes sense?" You echo, lifting your eyes in shock to look at her as she nods firmly, smiling at you.

"Yes. You are under entirely too much stress, sweetie." She says sadly, fixing you with a sympathetic look. "It isn't uncommon in extreme cases of exhaustion, sleep-depravation, stress and anxiety for our minds to create these... these vivid scenarios for us to escape to--to "run away" from the stress, basically."

Your mouth twists in revulsion at the idea. That wasn't at all what this was! You knew in your heart that it wasn't. Hell, you have an ancient god that occasionally shows up to annoy the piss out of you!

"I don't think--" You start, but Gale cuts you off again, continuously tapping on her tablet the entire time.

"You created this elaborate fantasy, it sounds like, from various forms of input from media you've consumed over the years. I'm guessing you've seen The Mummy a multitude of times as a child?"

"Well, yes, but--"

"And provided that with some school projects, trips to the museums, late-night documentaries... Your mind went to a place in time where the problems you suffer with simply didn't exist. You seem to have a family, a lover, a child! It's a common "apple pie" fantasy as I call it." Gale clicks with her tongue, looking up at you.

"It gives your mind a respite--an escape to a life you think is unattainable given your current circumstances."

You grind your teeth, biting your tongue as she continues to seemingly dismiss your situation entirely as some sort of fantasy you created; nevermind the fact that you've been suffering with dreams and these vivid scenarios since childhood, apparently!

You cut her off as she continues to ramble, "You said I was talking in another language." You grunt, your jaw grinding.

"Why, yes! You were, dear." Gale nods, not bothered by your otherwise rude interruption.

"Okay, if I made up that scenario," You say, leaning with your palms on your knees while your eyes narrowed at her. "How do you explain that?"

"Oh, it can be much of the same as to how you made up that little fantasy," She said casually. "You live in New York, dear. You probably heard the language spoken enough times your brain decided to pick up on it. I'm quite certain you were talking gibberish. Almost like sleep-talk."

You remind yourself to unclench your jaw and suppress the urge to shout at this silly old lady for dismissing almost everything you've pointed out or said as she rattled off her diagnosis and prescriptions she decided to give you...

This was getting ridiculous!

You angrily balled up the prescription notes and tossed them in the trash can outside, making a mental note to write a review about how dismissive this woman was, when you got home. If she induced her "hypnosis" often in her clients, who knows what she was else doing?!

You didn't notice however, a face in the crowd. A tall man, dark hair, hazel eyes, unmoving despite the bustle of the people around him, his suit a crisp stark white.

You didn't notice how he tilted his head at you, a curious and suspicious glimmer within his steady gaze.

Chapter 12: Link

[novaursa]

Fire and Gold (to flip a coin)

- Summary: Rhaegar chooses you over her. And Ceresi never forgives you for it.

- Paring: sister!reader/Rhaegar Targaryen

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (just to be safe)

- Previous part: whispers

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @naviaberries

Your footsteps echoed in the silence of halls of the Red Keep, the sound only broken by the heavy boots of Ser Gerold Hightower and Ser Jonothor Darry, their white cloaks trailing behind them as they followed you. You had given the order, and the two Kingsguard had brought the servants directly to you—a pair of trembling men with faces pale as ghosts, shackles clinking with every step.

Varys had whispered their names to you earlier that day, slipping the information into your hand like a coiled serpent. He had smiled that secretive smile of his and said only, “They may know more than they let on, Your Grace.” It was enough to stir your suspicions. And now, here you were, standing before them in a forgotten chamber deep beneath the keep, the only light coming from the flickering torches on the walls.

The two men, their faces streaked with sweat, knelt before you, eyes darting nervously between you and the Kingsguard. You crossed your arms, letting the silence stretch, savoring the discomfort that crept over them. You had no intention of making this easy for them. Your son was dead, and you would get your answers—no matter the cost.

“Do you know why you are here?” you asked, your voice cold and steady, cutting through the tension like a blade.

The older of the two, a gaunt man with thinning hair, swallowed hard, but he kept his mouth shut. The younger one, barely more than a boy, glanced at his companion, then at you, his hands trembling where they were bound. But neither of them spoke.

You took a step closer, your boots scuffing against the stone floor, and they flinched. “You were seen with strangers,” you continued, your tone sharp as steel. “Strangers who were not meant to be in the Keep. Strangers who entered the very night my son was murdered. Now, you will tell me what you know. Or you will burn.”

They exchanged a panicked look, the older man’s face paling even further. He wet his lips, as if considering whether to speak, but still he said nothing. You felt a flare of anger rise within you, and your hands clenched into fists at your sides.

“I do not make idle threats,” you said, your voice dropping lower, more dangerous. “My father has taught me well. If you think I would hesitate to use fire to get the truth from you, then you are mistaken.”

The words seemed to finally cut through their fear, and the younger man broke, tears spilling down his cheeks. “Please, Your Grace,” he choked out, his voice shaking. “We—we had no part in it. We only did what we were told. We let them in, but we didn’t—”

“Let who in?” you demanded, leaning closer, your gaze boring into him. “Who sent them? Who ordered the death of my son?”

The older man’s resolve crumbled alongside the younger’s, and he glanced desperately at Ser Gerold and Ser Jonothor as if hoping for a reprieve. None came. “We don’t know who sent them,” he rasped, his voice hoarse with desperation. “We never saw their faces. But they... they weren’t after the boy. They spoke of... of you, Your Grace.”

A chill ran through you, cold and sharp, and you forced yourself to remain steady, your face betraying nothing of the turmoil inside. “Me?” you repeated, your voice icy. “Explain yourself.”

“They said... the boy was a mistake,” the younger one whispered, his voice barely audible, his face pale and slick with sweat. “They were meant to... they wanted to get to you. But something went wrong. They found him instead.”

For a moment, you could only hear the pounding of your own heart, drowning out the crackle of the torches and the shifting of the Kingsguard’s armor. The confession settled like a heavy weight in your chest, and you stared at the two men, your mind racing. It was you they wanted. Your son had died because he was in the way. A sacrifice for a target that should have been you.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. This was not the time for grief or for anger. You had the truth now—or at least part of it. And the rest... the rest could be uncovered in time. But these men, these cowardly wretches who had let death into your home, they would answer for their part in it. They had chosen to let the darkness in, and now they would face the consequences.

You stepped back, looking to Ser Gerold Hightower and Ser Jonothor Darry, your voice cool and commanding. “Take them to my father,” you ordered. “Let King Aerys hear their confession. Let him judge them.”

The two servants' faces twisted in panic, and the younger one reached out, his bound hands trembling. “Please, Your Grace!” he begged, his voice cracking. “Don’t send us to him! He’ll burn us alive!”

The older man joined in, his voice breaking with desperation. “We told you everything we know! Mercy, Your Grace—please!”

You felt a cold satisfaction settle in your chest, but you kept your face impassive, your eyes hard as steel. “You should have thought of that before you let those men into the castle,” you said, your tone unforgiving. “My son paid the price for your actions. Now, you will pay yours.”

Without another word, you turned and strode toward the door, Rhaegar’s grief-filled face flashing in your mind, the memory of your child’s laughter still echoing in the back of your thoughts. Behind you, the sound of the men’s pleading voices faded as Ser Gerold and Ser Jonothor dragged them away.

They had brought death to your door. Now, death would find them in turn. And you would be there to watch when it did.

The throne room was stifling, the air filled with heat and the acrid scent of burning. Jaime stood at his post near one of the towering pillars, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, though there was nothing he could do to change the horrors unfolding before him. He kept his face expressionless, a mask of rigid composure, but his stomach churned with disgust as the scene played out.

King Aerys leaned forward on the Iron Throne, his eyes gleaming with a manic delight as he watched the two servants writhe and scream, their voices high-pitched and desperate as the wildfire consumed them. The green flames crackled and roared, eating away at flesh and bone with a hunger that seemed to match the king’s own twisted desires. The smell of charred flesh filled the chamber, a stench that clawed its way into Jaime’s nostrils, making him want to gag.

But he kept his place, kept his silence, even as the cries of the dying men echoed through the throne room. Aerys’s laughter, high and brittle, cut through the screams, and Jaime’s fingers tightened around his sword’s pommel. He knew better than to intervene. Knew what would happen if he did. So, he stood there, as he had stood there before, watching, waiting, powerless to do anything else.

Finally, the flames began to die down, the twisted forms of the charred bodies crumpling into ash. Aerys’s laughter faded into a low, satisfied murmur, and he leaned back on the throne, his wild hair falling across his face like a silver curtain. The room fell silent save for the crackling of dying embers and the rasp of Aerys’s breath, still heavy with excitement.

“Let them all see,” Aerys whispered to no one in particular, his eyes distant, unfocused. “Let them know what happens to traitors who dare conspire against my blood. Burn them all, burn them all...”

Jaime forced himself to look away, his jaw clenched tightly. He wanted to turn and leave, to escape the heat and the stench, but he remained at his post, staring at the floor until Aerys finally dismissed them all with a wave of his hand. The courtiers hurried from the room, their faces pale, their eyes wide with horror.

As Jaime turned to follow, Ser Barristan Selmy fell into step beside him. The older knight’s face was drawn, his mouth set in a grim line, but his voice was quiet, almost gentle as he addressed Jaime. “You’ve been even more quiet than usual, Ser Jaime.”

Jaime didn’t look at him, keeping his eyes fixed on the floor ahead as they walked through the shadowed corridors of the Red Keep. “There’s little to say, Ser Barristan. I have no desire to speak of what we just witnessed.”

“Is that all, then?” Barristan pressed, his voice taking on a sharper edge. “Or is there something else weighing on your mind, perhaps? Something you might wish to share about the death of the prince?”

Jaime’s steps faltered, and he shot Barristan a quick, wary glance. But the older knight’s face remained impassive, though his eyes were keen, studying Jaime with a look that made him feel exposed, like a specimen under a glass. Jaime forced himself to keep his expression neutral, though he could feel the muscles in his jaw twitching with tension.

“I already told you everything I know, Ser Barristan,” Jaime said evenly. “I was on duty outside the chambers that night. I didn’t see anyone, didn’t hear anything until it was too late.”

But that wasn’t entirely true, and they both knew it. A memory tugged at the edge of Jaime’s mind, a shadowy recollection of a whisper, a figure moving through the shadows. He had caught a glimpse of someone that night—someone who shouldn’t have been there. But the image was hazy, the details slipping through his grasp like smoke. And even if he had seen more, he had no intention of speaking of it. Not now, not ever. Too many things were at stake, too many lives caught in the balance.

Barristan’s gaze lingered on him for a long moment, and Jaime could feel the weight of it pressing down on him like a heavy stone. But then the older knight sighed, shaking his head as if in resignation. “If that’s what you say, Ser Jaime, then I will believe you—for now. But if you do remember something, anything at all, it would be wise to speak of it before more blood is shed.”

Jaime forced a thin smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Thank you for the advice, Ser Barristan. I’ll keep it in mind.”

They walked on in silence, but the memory clawed at the back of Jaime’s thoughts, refusing to be ignored. He remembered the shadowy figure slipping through the halls that night, remembered the unease that had settled in his gut, the way he’d pushed it aside. He couldn’t make out their face, couldn’t even be sure if it was real or some trick of the mind.

But deep down, a nagging suspicion lingered, and he knew that if he were to speak of it now, it would unleash a storm he wasn’t prepared to face. He had seen what Aerys did to those he considered traitors. He had seen the fire, smelled the smoke, heard the screams. And he had no desire to meet the same fate.

So, Jaime kept his silence, pushing the memory back into the darkness where it belonged. He told himself it was for the best, that no good could come from dredging up the shadows of that night. But as he glanced back toward the throne room, where the smell of burning still lingered in the air, he couldn’t quite shake the sense that the shadows were not finished with him yet.

The Great Hall of the Red Keep was alive with the hum of conversation, the clink of goblets, and the strains of music that filled the air. Laughter and cheers echoed from every corner as the lords and ladies of the realm gathered to celebrate the nameday of Aelor, your eldest son, now one and three years old. The tables groaned under the weight of roasted meats, fruit, and delicacies from every corner of the Seven Kingdoms, and for the first time in many months, the Red Keep seemed to hold a semblance of joy.

But even amidst the festivities, you couldn’t shake the shadows that lingered in your heart. You watched as Aelor, old enough now to sit tall at the high table with a hint of a princely air, beamed with the excitement of the feast held in his honor. His laughter was a balm, but it couldn’t erase the memory of the child you had lost. And it couldn’t quiet the voice inside you that whispered of unanswered questions, of hidden threats.

You moved through the hall, exchanging pleasantries with the gathered lords and ladies, always with a careful smile. Rhaegar was nearby, speaking with a group of northern lords, but his gaze drifted to you often, as if ensuring you were never far from his sight. He knew how difficult this night was for you. He shared your grief, even if the weight of his duty required him to keep it buried.

As you made your way toward the table where wine was being served, you caught sight of a familiar figure, draped in a gown of emerald green, her golden hair gleaming like spun sunlight in the torchlight. Cersei Lannister. She stood with a goblet in hand, her lips curled into a thin smile as she spoke with a cluster of lesser lords. But when she saw you approaching, that smile sharpened, becoming something colder, something that glinted with malice.

“Princess Y/N,” Cersei greeted, her voice smooth as silk as she turned to you, her eyes gleaming with a challenge. “What a splendid celebration for young Prince Aelor. He looks so very much like his mother.” She took a sip from her goblet, her gaze never leaving yours. “One hopes he’ll have more fortune than his younger brother.”

The barb was thinly veiled, but the venom behind it stung all the same. You held her gaze, refusing to flinch. “Thank you for your concern, Lady Cersei,” you replied, your tone equally sweet. “It is a mother’s hope that all her children will be kept safe. It’s a pity, though, that some must pay the price for the schemes of others.”

Cersei’s smile didn’t waver, but her eyes narrowed slightly. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean, Your Grace. It sounds like you’ve been listening to far too many rumors. I suppose grief can make one… imaginative.”

You took a step closer, lowering your voice so only she could hear. “Yes, grief can drive one to madness,” you said, your gaze piercing into hers. “But it can also sharpen the mind, help one see the truth behind lies. Like how an assassin’s blade might have been meant for me—but found my child instead.”

For a moment, something flickered across Cersei’s face—something dark, a flash of annoyance, or perhaps fear. But she recovered quickly, letting out a soft, mocking laugh. “You sound like your father, princess,” she whispered back, her voice dripping with false pity. “Careful, or you might find yourself speaking of fire and treachery before long.”

Her words sent a chill down your spine, but you refused to let her see your fear. You forced a smile, every inch the gracious queen. “Better to speak of such things than to act upon them, Lady Cersei,” you said. “I only wonder how many more mistakes the realm will forgive.”

Before she could respond, Rhaegar’s presence was at your side, his hand resting gently on your arm. His expression was polite, but you could see the tightness in his jaw, the way his eyes flicked over Cersei with a look of barely concealed distaste.

“Lady Cersei,” he said, inclining his head slightly. “I trust you are enjoying the feast.”

Cersei’s smile returned, all false warmth as she inclined her head in return. “Of course, Your Grace. It’s a truly joyous occasion. May young Aelor live long and prosper.”

Rhaegar’s grip on your arm tightened almost imperceptibly, a silent signal, and you allowed him to guide you away, offering Cersei a final, cool nod. As you walked together, the sounds of the feast rising around you once more, Rhaegar leaned closer, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You shouldn’t waste your breath on her,” he said softly, his frustration clear. “Cersei Lannister is as dangerous as she is petty. She’ll twist your words to suit her needs.”

You glanced back over your shoulder, catching a glimpse of Cersei watching your retreat, her expression unreadable, her fingers gripping her goblet just a bit too tightly. “I know, Rhaegar,” you murmured, your voice tinged with bitterness. “But I can’t stand the way she smiles, knowing more than she says. I know she had a hand in this, even if I cannot yet prove it.”

Rhaegar sighed, his thumb stroking the back of your hand in a soothing gesture as he guided you to a quieter corner of the hall. “We will find the truth, but we must be careful. Aerys is growing more volatile every day, and if we push too hard…”

You nodded, leaning into him, drawing strength from his warmth. He was right, of course. The game you were playing was a dangerous one, with stakes that could set the realm ablaze if misplayed. But as you looked across the hall at your son Aelor, surrounded by those who claimed to be loyal and true, you felt a renewed sense of determination. You would find the answers you sought, even if it meant facing the fire.

And when you did, those responsible for your child’s death would learn that the Targaryen fury was not easily quenched.

[coallise]

Can I request a part 2 to A Deal and a Dance?

here you go anon and @korrasamiswan

here's part one for anyone interested and here is part 2 of Deal and a Dance

It took a month for Vaggie to get back into practice and once she did, her skills quickly improved to be on par with the sisters.

“Vaggie, a moment before we start,” Carmilla ordered Vaggie when she walked into the training room.

“Is everything ok, miss Carmine?” Vaggie sat obediently on the bench on the edge of the training room.

“I like to think we’re close enough by now to drop the formalities,” Carmilla muttered under her breath as she kneeled down by Vaggie’s feet, moving the box out from under the bench.

“Hmm, thing is, the next step is calling you mama, and I don’t know if we’re that close yet,” Vaggie joked. Carmilla smirked as she started unwinding the silk ribbons from around Vaggie’s feet.

“I wouldn’t mind,” once Carmilla removed both shoes, she slid on a pair of hell steel shoes and tied them tight, “in fact, I think I would be honored if you did.”

Vaggie turned and blushed before taking Carmilla’s hand to help her up and almost falling into her arms. “what the hell? These shoes-”

“Are made of hell steel, the next step of learning our fighting style,” Carmilla helped Vaggie gain her balance before walking to her two daughters vibrating in excitement, “you will spar with Clara today.”

“I thought the deal was just teaching me dancing,” Vaggie took some shaky steps toward Clara. The shoes offered no give and Vaggie felt like she was literally standing on the blades of a knife.

“Hmm, I believe the deal was to teach you as long as you’re willing. Are you not willing to take the next step in our version of ballet?” Carmilla asked, leaning forward so she was at height with Vaggie.

Vaggie pursed her lips. “I’m flattered and, honestly, the idea excites me. I just… well Charlie doesn’t really like… and if I go home covered in bruises, she might not-”

“Are you really worried about your girlfriend not approving of fighting, or are you worried about getting gold blood on my studio floor?” Carmilla quickly used her shoes to slice a shallow cut in Vaggie’s arm, just deep enough for a drop of gold blood to land on the floor.

“How-how did you know?!” Vaggie backed up, holding her arm where the cut happened.

“Are you really as dense as your girlfriend? We’ve known from the beginning, it’s not rocket science. Even if we didn’t, the blisters when you first started again and the fact that you blushed gold when Charlie watched a lesson confirmed it,” Carmilla moved so Vaggie crashed into her when she tried to run. Carmilla yanked her chin up, “you are safe, chiquita. You and your secret. I hope Charlie knows it too.”

Vaggie’s frame shook and she fell into Carmilla. Those words, you are safe chiquita, hit something deep in her. Carmilla ran her large fingers threw Vaggie’s hair, waiting for the young girl to calm down.

“Thank you, …, mama,” Vaggie muttered before breaking from the embrace, “uhm, maybe we can do the next step tomorrow, miss Carmine,” Vaggie said before flinching when Carmilla gave her ponytail a soft yank.

“I heard that, no more miss Carmine,” Carmilla ordered. The practice went normal as Vaggie got used to the shoes, but before she could send Charlie a message that practice was over, Clara stole her phone.

“Hey!” Vaggie made a lunge for her phone.

“Come on, sis, we should celebrate your new shoes,” Clara smirked as she sent the text message.

“Yes, I believe this deserves a day at the emporium,” Odette agreed.

Vaggie got her phone back and looked at the message Clara sent, ‘practice is over but Clara and Odette invited me out. Maybe we can meet at the dinner on the edge of Cannibal Colony for dinner? Red Roses? I hear they have some nice non-sinner options’.

Charlie responded with her usual hearts and rainbow text message with, ‘hope you have fun!’

Clara and Odette dragged her to one of the many cars in the garage and started driving.

“Ok, ideas on what to do? I mean, don’t usually girls have a spa day and go shopping when celebrating something?” Clara tried, gaining looks from the other two.

“You know I hate people touching me,” Odette said.

“And shopping? I have clothes that I like, so no.” Vaggie added.

“Well what do we do then? I mean, can we try to act like normal teens for an afternoon?” Clara huffed. Her passengers looked at each other.

“Is there a bowling ally?” Vaggie asked.

“I have heard mini-golf is a normal teenage girl activity,” Odette added.

Clara took the win in bowling all five rounds and Odette beat the two in mini-golf by a landslide. They sat together inside the emporium to think of what next when a little boy stared at them.

Clara waved but he didn’t wave back, just hid behind one of the mannequin, “aw, he’s so shy. Come here, you want one of our lolly pops? Its cherry not blood flavored.”

The boy peeked out again, Vaggie looked up to see when they locked eyes. “wait, is it you?”

The boy perked up and ran over, “nice angel?”

Vaggie nodded, “yeah, it’s me. Glad to see you’re ok.”

The boy grabbed Vaggie’s legs in a hug, “thank you, miss angel.”

Vaggie scratched the little boy’s head until he heard someone call for him and he had to go.

“Daw, do we get the story?” Clara asked once the boy had run off.

“He’s the reason I’m here. I spared him and they punished me for it,” Vaggie rubbed her missing eye. “I think its time for me to meet up with Charlie. I guess this was fun.” Vaggie smirked as the two rolled their eyes.

“Yeah, next time I think we should do non-normal teen stuff like play with explosives an-”

“Stay out of my lab!” Odette interrupted causing Vaggie and Clara to laugh. Vaggie gave them one last goodbye before running out to meet Charlie at the dinner. Vaggie told her all about her day out and how she thinks the Carmines adopted her, promising herself she’d tell Charlie about being an angel, later.

The boy did find them again when they were leaving and gave her one more hug.

“Aw, such a sweet boy,” Charlie smiled.

“Yeah, he is, and don’t worry, he didn’t take my wallet, just put a picture in my pocket,” Vaggie held up the paper that he slipped in.

“Oh phew, I didn’t want to accuse him but,” Charlie kissed Vaggie’s head.

“But it’s hell, I know. He’s just a sweetheart,” Vaggie kissed her back.